Ko.  OOCLXVL 


FRENOH’S  STANDARD  DRAMA. 


The  Colleen  Bawn, 


BRIDES  OF  GARRYOWEN. 


A  DOMESTIC  DRAMA  IN  8  ACTS* 


DION  BOUCICAULT, 

PRICE  25  CENTS 


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New  York: 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 
Publisher 

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=J 


MRS.  WIGGS  OF  THE 
CABBAGE  PATCH 

Dramatization  in  3  acts,  by  Anne  Crawford  Flexner  from 
the  novel  by  Alice  Began  E'ice.  15  males,  11  females, 
y  interior,  1  exterior.  Costumes  modern  and  rustic.  Plays 
a  full  evening. 

.a.  capital  dramatization  of  the  ever-beloved  Mrs.  Wiggs  and 
her  friends,  people  who  have  entered  the  hearts  and  minds  of  a 
nation.  Mrs.  Schultz  and  Lovey  Mary,  the  pessimistic  Miss  Hazy 
and  the  others  need  no  new  introduction.  Here  is  characteriza¬ 
tion,  humor,  pathos,  and  what  is  best  and  most  appealing  in 
modern  American  life.  The  amateur  acting  rights  are  reserved 
for  the  present  in  all  cities  and  towns  where  there  are  stock 
companies.  Royalty  will  be  quoted  on  application  for  those  cities 
*nd  towns  where  it  may  be  presented  by  amateurs. 

Price,  75  Cents. 

THE  FOUR-FLUSHER 

Comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Caesar  Dunn.  8  males,  5  females, 
2  interiors.  Modern  costumes.  Plays  21,4  hours. 

A  comedy  of  hustling  American  youth,  “The  Four-Flusher’ *  is 
one  of  those  clean  and  bright  plays  which  reveal  the  most  appeal¬ 
ing  characteristics  of  our  native  types.  Here  is  an  amusing  story 
of  a  young  shoe  clerk  who  through  cleverness,  personality,  and 
plenty  of  wholesome  faith  in  himself,  becomes  a  millionaire.  The 
play  is  best  described  as  “breezy.”  It  is  full  of  human  touches, 
and  develops  a  most  interesting  story.  It  may  be  whole-heartedly 
recommended  to  high  schools.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.) 

Price,  75  Cents. 

PALS  FIRST 

Comedy  in  a  prologue  and  3  acts.  By  Lee  Wilson  Dodd 
8  males,  3  females.  1  interior,  1  exterior.  Modern  cos 
tumes.  Plays  2 hours. 

Based  on  the  successful  novel  of  the  same  name  by  F.  I 
Elliott,  “Pals  First”  is  a  decidedly  picturesque  mystery  play 
Danny  and  the  Dominie,  a  pair  of  tramps,  enter  a  mansion  an< 
persuade  the  servants  and  friends  that  they  belong  there.  The 
are  not  altogether  wrong,  though  it  requires  the  intervention  c 
a  judge,  two  detectives,  a  villain  and  an  attractive  girl  to  ur 
iangle  the  complications.  A  most  ingenious  play,  well  adapte 
Vo  performance  by  high  schools  and  colleges.  (Royalty,  twenty 
3ve  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cent; 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 
Our  New  Catalogue  Will  Be  Sent  on  Receipt  of  Five  Cents 


No.  CCCLXVI. 

FRENCH'S  STANDARD  DRAMA. 

THE  ACTING  EDITION. 


THE  COLLEEN  BAWN; 


OR,  THE 


BRIDES  OF  GARRYOWEN. 


A  DOMESTIC  DRAMA,  IN  THREE  ACTS. 


BY  DION  BOUCIGAULT \  ESQ., 


AUTHOR  OF 


Uhe  Pope  of  Rome,  The  Young  Actress,  The  Poor  of  New  York,  The  Lmblla 
Boy,  Pauvrette,  Life  of  i.n  Actress,  Jessie  Brown,  The 
Octoroon,  AzaeJ,  Eiue  Belle, 

&c. 


New  York 
SAMUEL  FRENCH 
publisher’ 

25  WEST  45TH  STREET 


London 

SAMUEL  FRENCH,  Lm 
26  Southampton  Street 
Strand,  W.C.2 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


Original  Cast,  at  Miss  Laura  Keene's  Theater,  Wew  York,  March  21th,  I860. 
CAST  OP  CHARACTERS.— [Th a  Colleen  Bawn.] 


Myles  na  Coppaleen  . . . 

. Mr.  Dion  Boucicault. 

Hardress  Cregan . 

. Mr.  H.  F.  Daly. 

Danny  Mann . 

. . Mr.  Charles  Wheatleigk 

Kyrle  Daly . 

. .  Mr.  Charles  Fisher. 

Father  Tom . 

. Mr.  D.  W.  Leeson. 

Mr.  Corrigan . 

Bertie  0’ Moore . 

Hyland  Creagh . 

Servant . 

. Mr.  Goodrich. 

Corporal . . 

. Mr.  Clarke. 

Eily  O’Connor . 

Anne  Chute . . . 

Mrs.  Cregan . 

Sheelah . 

Kathleen  Creagh . 

Ducie  Blennerhasset  . . . 

COSTUMES.— Period,  179—. 

Hardress. — Green  broad -skirted  body  coat  of  the  time  ;  double- 
breasted  light  silk  waistcoat,  leather  pantaloons,  top  boots,  hair  rather 
long,  steeple-crowned  gold-laced  hat,  and  white  muslin  cravat. 

2nd  Dress:  Blue  body  coat,  white  waistcoat,  white  kerseymere 
breeches,  silk  stockings,  and  shoes. 

Daly. — Brown  coat,  etc.,  same  fashion  as  above.  2nd  Dress:  Full 
dress. 

Creagh,  0’ Moore,  and  Gentj.emen. — Evening  dress. 

Father  Tom. — Broad-brimmed,  low-crowned  hat,  faded  blacR  suit, 
black  riding  boots,  and  white  cravat. 

Danny.  [A  hunchback .]  Blue  fiieze  jacket,  corduroy  breeches,  yellow 
waistcoat,  gray  stockiDgs,  shoes  and  buckles,  and  old  seal-skin  cap. 

Myles. — Drab  great  coat,  with  cape,  red  cloth  waistcoat,  old  vel¬ 
veteen  breeches,  darned  gray  stockings,  and  shoes. 

Corrigan. — Black  suit,  top  boots,  and  brown  wig. 

Mrs.  Cregan. — Puce  silk  dress  of  the  time,  white  muslin  neckerchief 
and  powdered  hair.  2nd  Dress  :  Handsome  embroidered  silk  dreat, 
jewels  and  fan. 

Anne. — Gold-laced  ruling  habit,  hat  and  vail.  2nd  Dress:  White 
embroidered  muslin  dress,  and  colored  sasb. 

Eily.  Blue  merino  petticoat,  chintz  tuck-up  body  and  skiits,  short 
sleeves,  blue  stockings,  hair  plain,  with  neat  comb,  red  cloak,  and 
aood. 


Library,  Univ.  ot 
North  Carolip* 


THE  COLLEEN  BAWN* 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. — [Night.'] — Tore  Cregan,  the  Residence  of  Mrs.  Oregon,  en 

the  Banks  of  Killamey.  House,  l.  2  e.  ;  window  facing  Audience — light 

behind — light  to  work  in  drop  at  back.  Stage  open  at  back.  Music—  wen 

bars  before  curtain. 

Enter  Hardress  Cregan,  from  house,  L. 

Hard  [Going  up  c.]  Hist  !  Danny,  are  you  there  ? 

Danny  appearing  from  below,  at  back 

Danny  Is  it  yourself,  Masther  Hardress  ? 

Hard  Is  the  boat  ready  ? 

Danny  Snug  under  the  blue  rock,  sir. 

Hard  Does  Eily  expect  me  to-night  ? 

Danny  Expict  is  it  ?  Here  is  a  lether  she  bade  me  gvve  yea  ;  sure 
the  young  thing  is  never  aisy  when  you  are  aw»y.  Look,  masther, 
dear,  do  ye  see  that  light,  no  bigger  than  a  star  beyant  on  Muckross 
Head? 

Hard  Yes,  it  is  the  signal  which  my  dear  Eily  leaves  burning  in 
our  chamber. 

Danny  All  night  long  she  sits  beside  that  light,  wid  her  face  fixed 
on  that  lamp  in  your  windy  above. 

Hard  Dear,  dear  Eily  !  after  all  here’s  asleep,  I  will  leap  from  m y 
window,  and  we’ll  cross  the  lake. 

Danny  [Searching.]  Where  did  I  put  that  lether? 

Enter  Kyrle  Daly  from  house ,  l. 

Kyrle  [l.]  Hardress,  who  is  that  with  you  ? 

Hard  [c.]  Only  Mann,  my  boatman. 

Kyrle  That  feilow  is  like  your  shadow. 

Danny  [r.]  Is  it  a  cripple  like  me,  that  wouhl  be  the  shadow  of 
an  illegant  gintleman  like  Mr.  Hardress  Cregan  ? 

Kyrle  [l.]  Well,  I  mean  that  he  never  leaves  your  side. 

Hard  [c.]  And  he  never  shall  leave  me.  Ten  years  ago  he  was  a 
flue  boy — we  were  foster-brothers,  and  playmates — in  a  moment  of 
passion,  while  we  were  struggling,  I  dung  him  from  the  gap  rock  into 
the  reeks  below,  and  thus  he  was  maimed  for  life. 


I 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


Danny  Arrah  !  whist  aroon  !  wouldn’t  1  die  for  ye z?  didn’t  the 
game  mother  foster  us?  Why,  wouldn’t  ye  break  my  back  if  it  plazed 
ye,  and  welkim  1  Oh,  Masther  Kyrle,  if  ye’d  seen  him  nursin’  me 
for  months,  and  cryiu’  over  me,  and  keenin’!  Sin’  that  time,  sir,  my 
body’s  been  crimpin’  up  smaller  and  smaller  every  year,  but  my 
heart  is  gettin’  bigger  for  him  every  day. 

I lard  Go  along,  Danny. 

Damy  Long  life  t’ye,  sir !  I’m  off. 

[Runs  up  and  descends  rocks ,  0.  to  B. 

Kyrle  Hardress,  a  word  with  you.  Be  honest  with  me — do  you 
h>ve  Anne  Chute? 

Hard  Why  do  you  ask  ? 

Kyrle  Because  we  have  been  fellow-collegians  and  friends  through 
life,  and  the  five  years  that  I  have  passed  at  sea  have  strengthened, 
but  have  not  cooled,  my  feelings  towards  you.  [Offers  hand. 

Enter  Mrs.  Creq an,  from  house,  l. 

Hard  [l.]  Nor  mine  for  you,  Kyrle.  You  are  the  same  noble  fel¬ 
low  as  ever.  You  ask  me  if  I  love  my  cousin  Anne  ? 

Mrs.  C  [c  ,  between  them.]  And  I  will  answer  you,  Mr.  Daly. 

Hard  [r.]  My  mother  ! 

Mrs.  O  [c  ]  My  6on  and  Miss  Chute  are  engaged.  Excuse  me, 
Kyrle,  for  intruding  on  your  secret,  but  I  have  observed  your  love 
for  Anne  with  some  regret.  I  hope  your  heart  is  not  so  far  gone  as 
to  be  beyond  recovery. 

Kyrle  [l.]  Forgive  me,  Mrs.  Cregan,  but  are  you  certain  that  Miss 
Chute  really  is  in  love  with  Hardress  ? 

Mrs.  C  Look  at  him  !  I’m  sure  no  girl  could  do  that  and  doubt  it. 

Kyrle  But  I’m  not  a  girl,  ma’am  ;  and  sure,  if  you  are  mistaken— 

Hard  Mv  belief  is  that  Anne  does  not  care  a  token  for  me,  and 
iikes  Kyrle  better. 

Mrs.  C  [c.]  You  are  an  old  friend  of  my  son,  and  I  may  confide  to 
you  a  family  secret.  The  extravagance  of  my  husband  left  this  es¬ 
tate  deeply  involved.  By  this  marriage  with  Anne  Chute  we  redeem 
every  acre  of  our  barony.  My  son  and  she  have  been  brought  up 
as  children  together,  and  don’t  know  their  true  feelings  yet. 

Hard  Stop,  mother,  1  know  this  :  I  would  not  wed  my  cousin  if 
she  did  not  love  me,  not  if  she  carried  the  whole  county  Kerry  in  her 
pocket,  and  the  barony  of  Kenmare  in  the  crown  of  her  hat. 

M^s.  C  Do  you  hear  the  proud  blood  of  the  Cregans  ? 

Hard  Woo  her,  Kyrle,  if  you  like,  and  win  her  if  you  can.  I'll 
back  you. 

Enter  Anne  Chute,  from  house ,  L. 

Anne  £l.  c.l  So  v\ill  I — what’s  the  bet? 

Mrs.  C  Hush ! 

Anne  I’d  like  to  have  bet  on  Kyrle. 

Hard  Well,  Anne,  I’ll  tell  you  what  it  was. 

Mrs.  C  [c.j  Hardress  ! 

Anne  [l.  c.  ]  Pull  in  one  side  aunt,  and  let  the  boy  go  on. 

Hard  lR. ]  Kyrle  wanted  to  know  if  the  dark  brown  colt,  Hardress 
OreKan.  was  going  to  walk  over  the  course  for  the  Anne  Chute  Stakes. 
r  whether  it  was  a  scrub-race  open  to  all. 

Anne  I  in  free- trade — coppleens,  mules  and  biddys. 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


« 


Mrs.  C  How  can  you  trifle  with  a  heart  like  Eyrie1  s  f 

Anne  Trifle  !  his  heart  can  be  no  trifle,  if  he’s  all  in  proportion. 

Enter  Servant,  from  house ,  l. 

Servant  Squire  Corrigan,  ma’am,  begs  to  see  you. 

Mrs.  0  At  this  hour,  what  can  the  fellow  want  ?  Show  Mr.  Corrigan 
here.  [Exit  Servant  into  house ,  l.]  I  hate  this  man  ;  he  was  my  hus¬ 
band’s  agent,  or  what  the  people  here  call  a  middle-man — vul- 
gularly  polite,  and  impudently  obsequious. 

Hard  [r.]  Genus  squireen — a  half  sir,  and  a  whole  scoundrel. 

Anne  I  know — a  potatoe  on  a  silver  plate  :  I’ll  leave  you  to  peel 
him.  Come,  Mr.  Daly,  take  me  for  a  moonlight  walk,  and  be  funny. 

Kyrle  Funny,  ma’am,  I’m  afraid  I  am — 

Anne  You  are  heavy,  you  mean  ;  you  roll  through  the  world  like 
a  hogshead  of  whisky  ;  but  you  only  want  tapping  for  pure  spirits 
to  flow  out  spontaneously.  Give  me  your  arm.  [ Grossing ,  r.]  Hold 
that  glove  now.  You  are  from  Ballinasloe,  I  think  ? 

Kyrle  I’m  Connaught  to  the  core  of  my  heart. 

Anne  To  the  roots  of  your  hair,  you  mean.  I  bought  a  horse  at 
Ballinasloe  fair  that  deceived  me  ;  I  hope  you  won’t  turn  out  to  be¬ 
long  to  the  same  family. 

Kyrle  [r.  c.]  What  did  he  do  ? 

Anne  Oh  !  like  you,  he  looked  well  enough — deep  in  the  chest  as  a 
pool — a-dhiol,  and  broad  in  the  back  as  the  Gap  of  Dunloe — but  af¬ 
ter  two  days’  warm  work  he  came  all  to  pieces,  and  Larry,  my  groom, 
said  he’d  been  stuck  together  with  glue. 

Kyrle  |R.j  Really,  Miss  Chute  !  [Music. — Exeunt ,  r.  1  B, 

Hard  [ Advancing ,  laughing .]  That  girl  is  as  wild  as  a  coppleen, — 
she  won’t  leave  him  a  hair  on  the  head.  [Goes  up. 

Enter  Servant,  showing  in  Corrigan,  from  house ,  l. 

[Exit  Servant,  l. 

Corrigan  [l.]  Your  humble  servant,  Mrs.  Cregan— my  service  t’ye, 
’Squire — it’s  a  fine  night,  entirely. 

Mrs.  C  [c.]  May  I  ask  to  what  business,  sir,  we  have  the  honoi 
of  your  call  ? 

Oorrig  [Aside,  l.  o.]  Proud  as  a  Lady  Beelzebub,  and  as  grand  as  a 
queen.  [Aloud.']  True  for  you,  ma’am  ;  I  would  not  have  come,  but 
for  a  divil  of  a  pinch  I’m  in  entirely.  I’ve  got  to  pay  £8,000'to-mor 
row  or  lose  the  Knockmakilty  farms. 

Mrs.  C  Well,  sir? 

Corrig  And  I  wouldn’t  throuble  ye — 

Mrs.  C  Trouble  me,  sir  ? 

Corrig  Iss,  ma’am — ye’d  be  forgettin’  now  that  mortgage  I  hart 
on  this  property.  It  ran  out  last  May,  and  by  rights  — 

Mrs  C  It  will  be  paid  next  month. 

Corrig  Are  you  reckonin’  on  the  marriage  of  Mister  Hardress  and 
Miss  Anne  Chute  ? 

Hard  [Advancing,  r.]  Mr.  Corrigan,  you  forget  yourself. 

Mrs.  C  Leave  us,  Hardress,  a  while.  [Hardress  retires,  r.]  Now, 
Mr.  Corrigan,  state,  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  what  you  demand. 

Corrig  Mrs.  Cregan,  ma’am,  you  depend  on  Miss  Anne  Chute’s 
fortune  to  pay  me  the  money,  but  your  son  does  not  love  the  lady, 
or,  if  he  does,  he  has  a  mighty  quare  way  of  showing  it.  He  has  an- 


I 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


Danny  Arrah  !  whist  aroon  !  wouldn’t  1  die  for  yez  ?  didn’t  the 
game  mother  foster  us  ?  Why,  wouldn’t  ye  break  my  back  if  it  plazed 
ye,  and  welkim  I  Oh,  Masther  Kyrle,  if  ye’d  seen  him  nursin’  me 
for  months,  and  cryin’  over  me,  and  keenin’!  Sin’  that  time,  sir,  my 
body’s  been  crimpin’  up  smaller  and  smaller  every  year,  but  my 
heart  is  gettin'  bigger  for  him  every  day. 

Hard  Go  along,  Danny. 

Danny  Long  life  t’ye,  sir  !  I’m  off. 

[Runs  up  and  descends  rocks ,  0.  to  b. 

Kyrle  Hardress,  a  word  with  you.  Be  honest  with  me — do  you 
h>ve  Anne  Chute? 

Hard  Why  do  you  ask  ? 

Kyrle  Because  we  hare  been  fellow-collegians  and  friends  through 
life,  and  the  five  years  that  I  have  passed  at  sea  have  strengthened, 
but  have  not  cooled,  my  feelings  towards  you.  [Offers  hand. 

Enter  Mrs.  Creqan,  from  house ,  L. 

Hard  [l.]  Nor  mine  for  you,  Kyrle.  You  are  the  same  n^ble  fel¬ 
low  as  ever.  You  ask  me  if  I  love  my  cousin  Anne  ? 

Mrs.  C  [c  j  between  them.]  And  I  will  answer  you,  Mr.  Daly. 

Hard  [r.]  My  mother  ! 

Mrs.  C  [c  ]  My  son  and  Miss  Chute  are  engaged.  Excuse  me, 
Kyrle,  for  intruding  on  your  secret,  but  I  have  observed  your  love 
for  Anne  with  some  regret.  I  hope  your  heart  is  not  so  far  gone  as 
to  be  beyond  recovery. 

Kyrle  [l.]  Forgive  me,  Mrs.  Cregan,  but  are  you  certain  that  Miss 
Chute  really  is  in  love  with  Hardress  ? 

Mrs.  C  Look  at  him  !  I’m  sure  no  girl  could  do  that  and  doubt  it. 

Kyrle  But  I’m  not  a  girl,  ma’am  ;  and  sure,  if  you  are  mistaken— 

Hard  My  belief  is  that  Anne  does  not  care  a  token  for  me,  and 
likes  Kyrle  better. 

Mrs.  C  [c.]  You  are  an  old  friend  of  my  son,  and  I  may  confide  to 
you  a  family  secret.  The  extravagance  of  my  husband  left  this  es¬ 
tate  deeply  involved.  By  this  marriage  with  Anne  Chute  we  redeem 
every  acre  of  our  barony.  My  son  and  she  have  been  brought  up 
as  children  together,  and  don’t  know  their  true  feelings  yet. 

Hard  Stop,  mother,  I  know  this  :  I  would  not  wed  my  cousin  if 
she  did  not  love  me,  not  if  she  carried  the  whole  county  Kerry  in  her 
pocket,  and  the  barony  of  Kenmare  in  the  crown  of  her  hat. 

Mrs.  C  Do  you  hear  tne  proud  blood  of  the  Cregans  ? 

Hard  Woo  her,  Kyrle,  if  you  like,  and  win  her  if  you  can.  I’ll 
back  you. 

Enter  Anne  Chute,  from  house,  L. 

Anne  [>l.  c.]  So  v\ ill  I — what’s  the  bet? 

Mrs.  C  Hush ! 

Anne  I’d  like  to  have  bet  on  Kyrle. 

Hard  Well,  Anne,  I’ll  tell  you  what  it  was. 

Mrs.  C  [c.j  Hardress  ! 

Anne  [l.  c.  j  Pull  in  one  side  aunt,  and  let  llie  boy  go  on. 

Hard  [r.]  Kyrle  wanted  to  know  if  the  dark  brown  colt,  Hardress 
OreKan.  was  going  to  walk  over  the  course  for  the  Anne  Chute  Stakes* 
r  whether  it  was  a  scrub-race  open  to  all. 

Anne  I  m  free- trade — coppleens,  mules  and  biddys. 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


% 


Mrs.  C  How  can  you  trifle  with  a  heart  like  Eyrie1  s  ? 

Anne  Trifle  !  his  heart  can  be  no  trifle,  if  he’s  all  in  proportion. 

Enter  Servant,  from  house ,  l. 

Servant  Squire  Corrigan,  ma’am,  begs  to  seeyou. 

Mrs.  C  At  this  hour,  what  can  the  fellow  want  ?  Show  Mr.  Corrigan 
here.  [Exit  Servant  into  house ,  l.]  I  hate  this  man  ;  he  was  my  hus¬ 
band’s  agent,  or  what  the  people  here  call  a  middle-man — vul- 
gularly  polite,  and  impudently  obsequious. 

Hard  [r.]  Genus  squireen— a  half  sir,  and  a  whole  scoundrel. 

Anne  I  know — a  potatoe  on  a  silver  plate  :  I’ll  leave  you  to  peel 
him.  Come,  Mr.  Daly,  take  me  for  a  moonlight  walk,  and  be  funny. 

Kyrle  Funny,  ma’am,  I’m  afraid  I  am — 

Anne  You  are  heavy,  you  mean  ;  you  roll  through  the  world  like 
a  hogshead  of  whisky  ;  but  you  only  want  tapping  for  pure  spirits 
to  flow  out  spontaneously.  Give  me  your  arm.  [i Grossing ,  r.]  Hold 
that  glove  now.  You  are  from  Ballinasloe,  I  think  ? 

Kyrle  I’m  Connaught  to  the  core  of  my  heart. 

Anne  To  the  roots  of  your  hair,  you  mean.  I  bought  a  horse  at 
Ballinasloe  fair  that  deceived  me  ;  I  hope  you  won’t  turn  out  to  be¬ 
long  to  the  same  family. 

Kyrle  [r.  c.J  What  did  he  do  ? 

Anne  Oh  !  like  you,  he  looked  well  enough — deep  in  the  chest  as  a 
pool — a-dhiol,  and  broad  in  the  back  as  the  Gap  of  Dunloe — but  af¬ 
ter  two  days’  warm  work  he  came  all  to  pieces,  and  Larry,  my  groom, 
said  he’d  been  stuck  together  with  glue. 

Kyrle  [r.]  Really,  Miss  Chute  !  [Music. — Exeunt,  r.  1  ■. 

Hard  [Advancing,  laughing .]  That  girl  is  as  wild  as  a  coppleen, — 
she  won’t  leave  him  a  hair  on  the  head.  [Goes  up. 

Enter  Servant,  showing  in  Corrigan,  from  house,  l. 

[Exit  Servant,  l. 

Corrigan  [l.]  Your  humble  servant,  Mrs.  Cregan— my  service  t’ye, 
'Squire — it’s  a  fine  night,  entirely. 

Mrs.  C  [c.]  May  I  ask  to  what  business,  sir,  we  have  the  honor 
of  your  call  ? 

Corrig  [Aside,  l.  o.]  Proud  as  a  Lady  Beelzebub,  and  as  grand  as  a 
queen.  [Aloud.]  True  for  you,  ma’am  ;  I  would  not  have  come,  but 
for  a  divil  of  a  pinch  I’m  in  entirely.  I’ve  got  to  pay  £8, OOO'to- mor¬ 
row  or  lose  the  Knockmakilty  farms. 

Mrs.  C  Well,  sir  ? 

Corrig  And  I  wouldn’t  throuble  ye — 

Mrs.  C  Trouble  me,  sir  ? 

Corrig  Iss,  ma’am — ye’d  be  forgettin'  now  that  mortgage  I  har« 
on  this  property.  It  ran  out  last  May,  and  by  rights  — 

Mrs  C  It  will  be  paid  next  month. 

Corrig  Are  you  reckonin’  on  the  marriage  of  Mister  Hardress  and 
Miss  Anne  Chute  ? 

Hard  [Advancing,  R.]  Mr.  Corrigan,  you  forget  yourself. 

Mrs.  C  Leave  us,  Hardress,  awhile.  [Hardress  retires,  r.]  Now, 
Mr.  Corrigan,  state,  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  what  you  demand. 

Corrig  Mrs.  Cregan,  ma’am,  you  depend  on  Miss  Anne  Chute’s 
fortune  to  Day  me  the  money,  but  your  son  does  not  love  the  lady, 
or,  if  he  does,  he  has  a  mighty  quare  way  of  showing  it.  He  has  an- 


•  COLLEEN  BAWN, 

other  girl  on  hand,  and  betune  the  two  he’ll  come  to  the  ground,  and 
so  bedad  will  L 

Mrs.  C  That  is  false— it  is  a  calumny,  sir  ! 

Corrig  I  wish  it  was,  ma’am.  D’ye  see  that  light  over  the  lake  f 
your  son’s  eyes  are  fixed  on  it.  What  would  Anne  Chute  say  if  she 
knew  that  her  husband,  that  is  to  be,  had  a  mistress  beyant — that 
he  slips  out  every  night  after  you’re  all  in  bed,  and  like  Leandher, 
barriu’  the  wettin',  he  sails  across  to  his  sweetheart  ? 

Mrs.  C  Is  this  the  secret  of  his  aversion  to  the  marriage  ?  Fool  1 
fool 1  what  madness,  and  at  such  a  moment. 

Corrig  That’s  what  1  say,  and  no  lie  in  it. 

Mrs.  C  He  shall  give  up  this  girl — he  must ! 

Corrig  I  would  like  to  have  some  security  for  that.  I  want,  by  to¬ 
morrow,  Anne  Chute’s  written  promise  to  marry  him,  or  my  £8,000. 

Mrs.  C  It  is  impossible,  sir  ;  you  hold  ruin  over  our  heads. 

Corrig  Madam,  it’s  got  to  hang  over  your  head  or  mine. 

Mrs.  C  Stay  ;  you  know  that  what  you  ask  is  out  of  our  power — 
you  know  it — therefore  this  demand  only  covers  the  true  object  erf 
your  visit. 

Corrig  ’Pon  my  honor  1  and  you  are  as  'cute,  ma’am,  as  you  are 
beautiful ! 

Mrs.  C  Goon,  sir. 

Corrig  Mrs.  Cregan,  I’m  goin’  to  do  a  foolish  thing — now,  by 
gorra  I  am  !  I’m  richer  than  ye  think,  maybe,  and  if  you'll  give  m« 
y our  personal  security,  I’ll  take  it. 

Mrs.  C  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Corrig  I  meant  that  I’ll  take  a  lien  for  life  on  you ,  instead  of  the 
mortgage  I  hold  on  the  Cregan  property.  [Aside.]  That’s  nate,  I’m 
thinkin’. 

Mrs.  C  Are  you  mad  ? 

Gomg  I  am — mad  in  love  with  yourself,  and  that’s  what  I’ve  been 
these  fifteen  years.  [ Music  through  dialogue ,  till  Anne  Chute  is  off. 

Mrs.  C  Insolent  wretch  !  my  son  shall  answer  and  chastise  you. 
[Calls.]  Hardressl 

Hard  [Advancing.]  Madam. 

Enter  Anne  Chute  and  Kyrle,  r. 

Oorrig  Miss  Chute  !  ) 

Hard  Well,  mother?  >  [Together.] 

Anne  Well,  sir?  ) 

Mrs.  C  [Aside.]  Scoundrel  !  he  will  tell  her  all  and  ruin  u*f 

[Aloud.]  Nothing.  ['Turns  aside. 

Corrig  Your  obedient. 

Anne  Oh  !  [Crosses  with  Kyrle  and  exit,  l.  u.  e. — Music  ceases. 

Corrig  You  are  in  my  power,  ma’am.  See,  now,  not  a  sowl  but 
myselt  knows  of  this  secret  love  of  Hardress  Cregan,  and  I’ll  keep  it 
as  snug  as  a  bug  in  a  rug,  if  you’ll  only  say  the  word. 

Mrs.  C  Contemptible  bound.  1  loathe  and  despise  you  ! 

Corrig  1  ve  known  that  fifteen  years,  but  it  hasn’t  cured  my  heart 
ache. 

Mrs.  C  And  you  would  buy  my  aversion  and  disgust! 

(Xrng  Just  as  Anne  Chute  buys  your  son,  if  she  knew  but  all. 
t  he  love  his  girl  beyant,  widout  hateu  this  heiress  he’s  obliged  U 


COLLEEN  BAWN.  7 

■wallow? — ain’t  you  sthriven  to  sell  him  ?  But  you  didn’t  feel  th« 
haidship  of  being  sold  till  you  tried  it  on  yourself 

Mrs .  C  I  beg  you,  sir,  to  leave  me. 

Corrig  That’s  right,  ma’am— think  over  it,  sleep  on  it  To  morrow 

I’ll  call  for  youi  answer.  Good  evenin’  kindly. 

[M  isic. — Exit  Corrigan,  in  house ,  l. 

Mrs.  C  Hardress. 

Hard  What  did  he  want? 

Mrs.  C  He  came  to  tell  me  the  meaning  of  yonder  light  upon  Muck* 
ross  Head 

Hard  Ah  !  has  it  been  discovered  ?  W ell,  mother,  now  you  know 
the  cause  of  my  coldness,  my  indilference  for  Anne. 

Mrs.  0  Are  you  in  your  senses,  Hardress?  Who  is  this  girl  ? 

Hard  She  is  known  at  every  fair  and  pattern  in  Munster  as  the 
Colleen  Bawn — her  name  is  Eily  O’Connor. 

Mrs.  C  A  peasant  girl— a  vulgar,  barefooted  beggar  1 

Hard  Whatever  she  is,  love  has  made  her  my  equal,  and  when  you 
set  your  foot  upon  her  you  tread  upon  my  heart. 

Mrs.  C  ’Tis  well,  Hardress.  I  feel  that  perhaps  I  have  no  right  to 
dispose  of  your  life  and  your  happiness— no,  my  dear  son — I  would 
not  wound  you — heaven  knows  how  well  I  love  my  darling  boy,  and 
you  shall  feel  it.  Corrigan,  has  made  me  an  offer  by  which  you  may 
regain  the  estate,  and  without  selling  yourself  to  Anne  Chute. 

Hard  What  is  it  ?  Of  course  you  accepted  it  ? 

Mrs.  C  No,  but  I  will  accept,  yes,  for  your  sake — I — I  will.  He 
offers  to  cancel  this  mortgage  if — if— I  will  consent  to — become  his 
wife. 

Hard  You  —you,  mother  ?  Has  he  dared — 

Mrs.  C  Hush  !  he  is  right.  A  sacrifice  must  be  made — either  you 
or  I  must  suffer.  Life  is  before  you — my  days  are  well  nigh  past — 
and  for  your  sake,  Hardress — for  yours  ;  my  pride,  my  only  one.— 
Oh  !  I  would  give  you  more  than  my  life. 

Hard  Never — never  !  I  will  not — can  not  accept  it.  I’ll  tear  that 
dog’s  tongue  from  his  throat  that  dared  insult  you  with  the  offer. 

Mrs.  C  Foolish  boy,  before  to-morrow  night  we  shall  be  beggars — 
outcasts  from  this  estate.  Humiliation  and  poverty  stand  like  spec¬ 
ters  at  yonder  door — to-morrow  they  will  be  realities.  Can  you  tear 
out  the  tongues  that  will  wag  over  our  fallen  fortunes  ?  You  are  a 
child,  you  can  not  see  beyond  your  happiness. 

Hard  Oh,  mother,  mother  1  what  can  be  done  ?  My  marriage  with 
Anne  is  impossible. 

Enter  Danny  Mann,  up  rock ,  at  back. 

Danny  [r.  o.]  Whisht,  if  ye  plaze — ye’re  talkin’  so  loud  she’ll 
hear  ye  say  that— she’s  cornin’. 

Mrs.  C  Has  this  fellow  overheard  us? 

Hard  If  he  has,  he  is  mine,  body  and  soul.  I’d  rather  trust  him 
with  a  secret  than  keep  it  my'self. 

Mrs.  C  [l.  c.]  I  can  not  remain  to  see  Anne  ;  excuse  me  to  my 
friends.  The  night  perhaps  will  bring  counsel,  or  at  least  resolution 
to  hear  the  worst !  Good  night,  my  son. 

[Music. — Exit  into  house,  l. 

Danny  [r.  c.]  Oh,  masther  !  she  doesn’t  know  the  worst!  Sha 
doesn’t  know  that  you  are  married  the  Colleen  Bawn. 


I 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


Hard  Hush !  what  fiend  prompts  you  to  thrust  that  act  of  follj 
in  my  face  ? 

Danny  Thrue  for  ye,  masther  !  I’m  a  dirty  mane  scut  to  remind  ye 
of  it. 

Hard  What  will  my  haughty,  noble  mother  say,  when  6he  learna 
the  truth  !  how  can  I  ask  her  to  receive  Eily  as  a  daughter? — Eily, 
with  her  awkward  manners,  her  Kerry  brogue,  her  ignorance  of  the 
usages  of  society.  Oh,  what  have  I  done  ? 

Danny  Oh  !  vo— vo,  has  the  ould  family  come  to  this  !  Is  it  the 
daughter  of  Mihil-na-Thradrucha,  the  old  rope-maker  of  Garryowen, 
that  ’ud  take  the  flure  as  your  wife  ? 

Hard  Be  silent,  scoundrel  !  How  dare  you  speak  thus  of  my  love  1 
— wretch  that  I  am  to  blame  her! — poor,  beautiful,  angel -hearted 
Eily. 

Danny  Beautiful  is  it !  Och — wurra— wurra,  deelish  !  The  look 
ing-glass  was  never  made  that  could  do  her  justice  ;  and  if  St.  Pat¬ 
rick  wanted  a  wife,  where  would  he  find  an  angel  that  ’ud  compare 
with  the  Colleen  Bawn.  As  I  row  her  on  the  lake,  the  little  fishes 
come  up  to  look  at  her  ;  and  the  wind  from  heaven  lifts  uf  her  hair 
to  see  what  the  divil  brings  her  down  here  at  all — at  all. 

Hard  The  fciult  is  mine — mine  alone — I  alone  will  suffer ! 

Danny  Why  isn’t  it  mine?  Why  can’t  I  suffer  for  yez,  masther 
dear?  Wouldn’t  I  swally  every  tear  in  your  body,  and  every  bit  of 
bad  luck  in  your  life,  and  then  wid  a  stone  round  my  neck,  sink  my* 
aelf  and  your  sorrows  in  the  bottom  of  the  lower  lake. 

Hard  [ Placing  hand  on  Danny.]  Good  Danny,  away  with  you  to 
the  boat — be  ready  in  a  few  moments  ;  we  will  cross  to  Muckross 
Head.  \Looks  at  light  at  back. 

[Music. — Exit  Hardress  into  house ,  l. 

Danny  Never  fear,  sir.  Oh  !  it  isn’t  that  spalpeen,  Corrigan,  that 
shall  bring  ruin  on  that  ould  place.  Lave  Danny  alone.  Danny, 
the  fox,  will  lade  yez  round  and  about,  and  cioss  the  scint.  [Takes 
off  his  hat — seo  letter.]  Bedad,  here’s  the  letter  from  the  Colleen 
Bawn  that  I  couldn’t  find  awhile  ago — it’s  little  use  now.  [Goes  to 
lotcer  window ,  and  reads  by  light  from  house.]  “Come  to  your  own 
Eily,  that  nas  not  seen  you  for  two  long  days.  Come,  aoushla  agrah 
machre's.  I  have  forgotten  bow  much  you  love  me — Shule,  shule 
agrah. — Colleen  Bawn.’’  Divil  an  address  is  on  it. 

Enter  Kyrle  and  Anne,  l.  u.  e. 

Anne  [o.]  Have  they  gone  ? 

Kyrle  [l.  o.]  It  is  nearly  midnight. 

Anne  Before  we  go  in,  I  insist  on  knowing  who  is  this  girl  that 
possesses  your  heart.  You  confess  that  you  are  in  love — deeply  in 
love. 

Kyrle  I  do  confess  it— but  not  even  your  power  can  extract  that 
secret  from  me— do  not  ask  me,  for  I  could  not  be  false,  yet  dare  not 
be  true.  [Exit  Kyrle  into  house,  l. 

Anne  [l.  c.]  He  loves  me — oh  !  he  loves  me — the  little  bird  ia 
making  a  nest  in  my  heart.  Oh  !  I’m  faint  with  joy. 

Danny  [As  if  calling  after  him.]  Sir,  sir  ! 

Anne  W  ho  is  that  ? 

Danny  I’m  the  boatman  below,  an’  Im  waitin  for  the  gintleman 


COLLEEN  BAWN 


% 


Anne  What  gentleman  ? 

Danny  Him  that’s  jist  left  me,  ma’am — I’m  waitin’  on  him. 

Anne  Does  Mr.  Kyrle  Daly  go  out  boating  at  this  hour? 

Danny  It’s  not  for  me  to  say,  ma’am,  but  every  night  at  twelve 
•’clock  I’m  here  wid  my  boat  under  the  blue  rock  below,  to  put  him 
across  the  lake  to  Muckross  Head.  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma’am,  but 
here’s  a  paper  ye  dropped  on  the  walk  beyant — if  it’s  no  vally  I’d 
like  to  light  my  pipe  wid  it.  [ Gives  it. 

Anne  A  paper  I  chopped  !  [ Goes  to  window — read*. 

Danny  \Asi.de.]  Oh.  Mistber  Corrigan,  you’ll  ruin  masther  will  ye? 
*isy  now,  and  see  how  I’ll  put  the  cross  on  ye. 

Anne  A  love-letter  from  some  peasant  girl  to  Kyrle  Daly !  Can 
this  be  the  love  of  which  he  spoke  ?  have  I  deceived  myself? 

Danny  I  must  be  off,  ma’am  ;  here  comes  the  signal.  [Music. 

Anne  The  signal  ? 

Danny  D’ye  see  yonder  light  upon  Muckross  Head?  It. is  in  a 
cottage  windy ;  that  light  goes  in  and  out  three  times  winkin’  that 
way,  as  much  as  to  say,  “Are  ye  coinin’  ?’’  Then  if  the  light  in 
that  room  there  [points  at  houie  above,]  answers  by  a  wink,  it  manes 
No!  but  if  it  goes  out  entirely,  his  honor  jumps  from  the  parlor 
windy  into  the  garden  behind,  and  we’re  off.  Look  !  [Light  in  cottage 
disappears .]  That’s  one.  [Light  appears.]  Now  again.  [Light  disap¬ 
pears.]  That’s  two.  [Light  appears.]  What  did  I  tell  you?  [Lighi 
disappears.]  That’s  thr^e,  and  here  it  comes  again.  [Light  appears. < 
Wait  now,  and  ye’ll  see  the  answer.  [Light  disappears  from  window ,  L. 
That’s  my  gentleman.  [Music  change.]  You  see  he’s  goin’ — gooc 
night,  ma’am. 

Anne  Stay,  here’s  money  ;  do  not  tell  Mr.  Daly  that  I  know  ol 


this. 

Danny  Divil  a  word — long  life  t’ye.  [Goes  up. 

Anne  I  was  not  deceived ;  he  meant  me  to  understand  that  he 
loved  me  !  Hark  !  I  hear  the  sound  of  some  one  who  leaped  heavily 
on  the  garden  walk.  [Goes  to  house  l. — looking  at  back. 


Enter  Hardress,  wrapped  in  a  boat  cloak ,  l.  u.  e. 


Danny  [Going  down ,  r.  c.]  All  right,  yer  honor. 

[Hardress  crosses  at  back,  and  down  rock,  R.  C. 

Anne  [ Hiding ,  l.]  It  is  he,  'tis  he. 

[Mistaking  Hardress  for  Daly — closed  in. 

SCENE  U.--The  Gap  of  Dunloe.  [Is?  grooves.]  Hour  before  sunriM. 

Enter  Corrigan,  r.  1  e. 

Corng  From  the  rock  above  I  saw  the  boat  leave.  Tore  Cregan.  It 
is  now  crossing  the  lake  to  the  cottage.  Who  is  this  girl  ?  What  if 
this  mysterious  misthress  of  young  Cregan  ? — that  I  11  find  out. 

[Myles  sings  outside,  L. 


“  Oh !  Charley  Mount  is  a  pretty  place. 
In  the  month  of  July - ” 


Who’s  that?— ’Tis  that  poaching 
stealer,  Myles  na  Coppaleen.  Here  he  com' 
rusty.  bouki  a#  N ebuckadev^ar.  . 


scoundrel — that  horse 
8  with  a  keg  of  illicit 


to 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


Enter  Mtles,  singing ,  with  keg  on  his  shoulder  fc. 


Is  that  you,  Myles  ? 

Myles  No  !  it’s  my  brother. 

Corrig  I  know  ye,  my  man. 

Myles  Then  why  the  divil  did  ye  a*  ? 

Corrig  You  may  as  well  answer  me  kindly— -civility  costs  nothing 

Myles  [l.  c.j  Oiv  now  !  don’t  it?  Civility  to  a  lawyer  manes  six* 
and-eiglit-pence  about. 

Corrig  [r.  o.]  VVbat'o  that  on  your  shoulder? 

Myles  What  s  that  to  you  ? 

Corrig  I  am  a  magistrate,  and  can  oblige  you  to  answer. 

Miles  Well!  it’s  a  boulster,  belongin’  to  my  mother’s  feather  bed 

Corrig  Stuff’d  with  whisky  ! 

Myles  Bedad  !  how  would  I  know  what  it’s  stuff’d  wid  ?  I’m  not 
an  upholsterer. 

Corrig  Come,  Myles,  I’m  not  so  bad  a  fellow  as  ye  may  think. 

Mijles  To  think  of  that  now! 

Corrig  I  am  not  the  mane  creature  you  imagine  ! 

Myles.  Ain’t  ye  now,  sir?  You  keep  up  appeamnces  mighty  well, 
indeed. 

Cor*ig  No,  Myles!  I  am  not  that  blackgumd  I’ve  been  repre 
sented. 

Myles  [Sits  on  keg.]  See  that  now — how  people  fr.lo  away  a  man’s 
character.  You  are  another  sort  of  blackguard  entirely. 

Corrig  You  shall  find  me  a  gentleman— liberal,  and  ready  to  pro¬ 
tect  you. 

Myles  Long  life  t’ye  sir. 

Corrig  Myles,  you  have  cone  down  in  the  world  lately;  a  year 
a£°  you  were  a  thriving  horse-dealer,  now  you  are  a  lazy,  ragged 
fellow.  ° 


Myles  Ah,  it’s  the  bad  luck,  sir,  that’s  in  it. 

Corrig  No,  it’s  the  love  of  Eily  O’Connor  that’s  in  it— it’s  the  pride 
of  Garry owen  that  took  your  heart  away,  and  made  yo  what  ye  are 
—a  smuggler  and  a  poacher. 

Myles  Thim’s  hard  words. 

Corrig '  But  they  are  true.  You  live  like  a  wild  beast  in  some  cave 
or  hole  in  the  rocks  above  ;  by  night  your  gun  is  heard  shootin’  the 
otter  as  they  lie  out  on  the  stones,  or  you  snare  the  salmon  in  youi 
nets  ;  on  a  cloudy  night  your  whisky-still  is  gffng— you  see  I 
know  your  life. 

Myles  Better  than  the  priest,  and  devil  a  lie  in  it. 

Corrig  Now,  if  I  put  ye  in  a  snug  farm— stock  ye  with  pigs  and 
cattle  and  rowl  you  up  comfortable -d’ye  think  the  Colleen  Bawn 
wouldn  t  jump  at  ye  ? 

Myles  Bedad,  she  d  make  a  lape,  I  b’lieve — and  what  would  I  do 
for  all  this  luck  ? 

Corrig  Find  out  for  me  who  it  is  that  lives  at  the  cottage  on  Muck 
ross  Head. 


Myles  That’s  aisy — it’s 
Bheelah. 


Danny  Mann — no  less  and  his  ouid  mot  he* 


Corny  Yes,  Myles,  but  there’s  another— a  girl  who  B  hid  there. 
Myles  Ah,  now  ! 

Cbrrig  She  only  goes  out  at  night 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


11 


Myles  Like  the  owls. 

Cunrig  She’s  the  misthress  of  Hardress  Cregan. 

Myles  [Seizing  Corrigan  ]  Thurra  mon  dhiol,  what’s  that? 

Corrig  Oh,  lor!  Myles— Myles— what’s  the  matter— are  you  mad  ? 
Myles  No — that  is — why — why  did  ye  raise  your  hand  at  me  in  that 

wav? 

Corrig  I  didn't. 

Myles  I  thought  ye  did — I’m  mighty  quick  at  takin’  tliim  hints, 
bein’  on  me  keepin’  agin  the  gaugers — go  on — I  didn’t  hurt  ye. 

Corrig  Not  much. 

Myles  You  want  to  find  out  who  this  girl  is? 

(Xrrig  I'll  give  £20  for  the  information — there's  ten  on  account. 

■J jives  money. 

Myles  Long  life  t’ye  ;  that’s  the  first  money  I  iver  got  from  a 
lawyer,  and  bad  luck  to  me,  but  there  s  a  cure  tor  the  evil  eye  in 
thim  pieces. 

Corrig  You  will  watch  to-night  ? 

Myles  In  five  minutes  I’ll  be  inside  the  cottage  itself. 

Corrig  T 'hat’s  the  lad. 

Myles  [Aside.]  I  wai  goin’  there.  , 

Corrig  And  to-morrow  you  will  step  down  to  my  office  with  the 

particulars  ? 

Myles  To-morrow  you  shall  breakfast  on  them. 

Corrig  Good  night,  entirely.  [Exit  Corrigan,,  l. 

Myles  I’ll  give  ye  a  cowstail  to  swally,  and  make  ye  think  it’s  a 
chapter  in  St.  Patrick,  ye  spalpeen?  When  he  called  Eily  the  mis¬ 
thress  of  Hardress  Cregan,  I  nearly  stliretched  him— begorra,  I  was 
full  of  sudden  death  that  minute  !  Oh,  Eily  !  acushla  agrah  asthore 
machree  1  as  the  stars  watch  over  Innistallen,  and  as  the  wathers  go 
round  it  and  keep  it,  so  I  watch  and  keep  round  you,  avourneen  1 

Song. — Myles. 

Oh,  Limerick  is  beautiful,  as  everybody  knows, 

The  river  Shannon’s  full  of  fish,  beside  that  city  flows  ; 

But  it  is  not  the  river,  nor  the  fish  that  preys  upon  my  mind, 
Nor  with  the  town  of  Limerick  have  I  any  fault  ta  find. 

The  girl  1  love  is  beautiful,  she’s  fairer  than  the  dawn  ; 

She  lives  in  Garryowen,  and  she’s  called  the  Colleen  Bawn. 

As  the  river,  proud  and  bold,  goes  by  that  famed  city, 

So  proud  and  cold,  without  a  word,  that  Colleen  goes  by  me. 

Oh,  hone  !  Oh,  hone  ! 

Oh,  if  I  was  the  Emperor  of  Russia  to  command, 

Or,  .Tnlinq  Caesar,  or  the  Lord  Lieutenant  ot  the  land, 

I’d  give  up  all  my  wealth,  my  manes.  I’d  give  up  my  army, 
Both  the  horse,  the  fut,  and  the  Royal  Artillery  ;  . 

I’d  give  the  crown  from  off  my  head,  the  people  on  their  knees, 
I’d  give  my  fleet  of  sailing  ships  upon  the  briny  seas, 

And  a  beggar  I’d  go  to  sleep,  a  happy  man  at  dawn, 

If  by  my  side,  uxst  for  my  bride.  I’d  the  darhn  Colleen  Bawn. 

Oh,  hone  !  Oh,  hone  1 

I  must  reach  cottage  before  the  masther  arrives  ,  Father  Iona 
Is  there  tor  this  keg  o’  starlight — it  e  my  thhe  :  I  cal  eve.y 


12 


COLLEEN  BAWN 


tenth  keg  “his  riverince.”  It’s  worth  money  to  see  the  way  it  does 
the  old  man  good,  and  brings  the  wather  in  his  eyes,  the  only  place  1 
ever  see  any  about  him — heaven  bless  him  ! 

[Sings.  Exit  Myles,  r. — Musk. 

SCENE  ILL— Interior  of  Eilfs  Cottage  on  Muckross  Head;  fire  burning , 
a.  8  e.  ;  table ,  a.  c. ;  arm  chair ;  two  stools,  r.  of  table ;  stool  l.  of  table ; 
basin ,  sugar  spoon ,  two  jugs,  tobacco,  plate,  knife ,  and  lemon  on  table. 


Father  Tom  discovered  smoking  in  arm  chair,  r.  o. — Eily  in  balcony% 

watching  over  lake. 

Father  Tom  [Sings.]  “  Tobacco  is  an  Injun  weed."  And  every  weed 
want’s  watheriug  to  make  it  come  up  ;  but  tobacco  bein’  an’  Injun 
weed  that  is  accustomed  to  a  hot  climate,  water  is  entirely  too  cold 
for  its  warrum  nature— it’s  whisky  and  water  it  wants.  I  wonder  ii 
Myles  has  come  ;  I’ll  ask  Eily.  [Calls.]  Eily,  alanna!  Eily,  a  suilish 
machree ! 

Eily  [Turning.]  Is  it  me,  Father  Tom  ? 

Father  T  Has  he  come  ? 

Eily  No  ;  his  boat  is  half  a  mile  off  yet. 

Father  T  Half  a  mile  !  I’ll  choke  before  he’s  here. 

Eily  Do  you  mean  Hardress  ? 

Father  T  No,  dear  !  Myles  na  Coppaleen — cum  spiritu  Hiberneuse — 
which  manes  in  Irish,  wid  a  keg  of  poteen. 

Enter  Myles,  r.  u.  e.,  down  c. 

Myles  Here  I  am,  your  riverince,  never  fear.  I  tould  Sheelah  to 
hurry  up  with  the  materials,  kuowin’  ye  be  dhry  and  hasty. 

Enter  Siieelaii,  with  kettle  of  water,  r  u.  e. 

Sheelah  Here’s  the  hot  water. 

Myles  Lave  it  there  till  I  brew  Father  Tom  a  pint  of  mother’s 
milk. 

Sheelah  Well  thin,  ye’ll  do  your  share  of  the  work,  an  not  a  ha’- 
porth  more. 

Myles  Didn’t  I  bring  the  sperrits  from  two  miles  and  more  ?  and  I 
deserve  to  have  pref’rence  to  make  the  punch  for  his  riverince. 

Sheelah  And  didn’t  I  watch  the  kettle  all  night,  not  to  let  it  off  the 
boil  ? — there  now. 

Myles  [Quarreling  with  Sheelah.]  No,  you  didn’t,  etc. 

Sheelah  [Quarreling.]  Yes,  I  did,  etc. 

Eily  No,  no  ;  I’ll  make  it,  and  nobody  else. 

Father  T  Aisy  now,  ye  becauns,  and  whist ;  Myles  shall  put  in  the 
whisky,  Sheelah  shall ,  put  in  the  hot  water,  and  Eily,  my  Colleen, 
shall  put  the  sugar  in  the  cruiskeen.  A  blessin’  on  ye  all  three  that 
loves  the  ould  man.  [Myles  takes  off  hat — Women  curtsey— they  make 
jounch.]  See  now,  my  children,  there’s  a  moral  in  everthing,  e’en  in  a 
jug  of  punch.  There’s  the  sperrit,  which  is  the  sowl  and  strength  of 
the  man.  [Myles  pours  spirit  from  keg.]  That’s  the  whisky.  There’s 
the  sugar,  which  is  the  smile  of  woman  ;  [Eily  puts  sugar.]  without 
that  life  is  without  taste  or  sweetness,  'then  there’s  the  lemon, [Eily 

C lemon.]  which  is  love  ;  a  squeeze  now  and  again  does  a  boy  no 
n  ;  but  not  too  much.  And  the  hot  water  (Sheelah  pour*  water.  1 


COLLEEN  BAWN.  It 

wiiich  is  adversity— as  little  as  possible  if  ye  plaze— that  makes  thi 
good  things  better  still. 

Myles  And  it's  complate,  ye  see,  for  it’s  a  woman  that  gets  into 
hot  wather  all  the  while.  [Pours  from  jug  to  jig. 

Sheelah  Myles,  if  I  hadn’t  the  kettle,  I’d  hate  ye. 

Myles  Then,  why  didn’t  ye  let  me  make  the  punch  ?  There’s  a 
guinea  fur  your  riverince  that’s  come  t’ye — one  in  ten  I  got  a  while 
ago — it’s  your  tithe — put  a  hole  in  it,  and  hang  it  on  your  watch 
chain,  for  it’s  a  mighty  great  charm  entirely. 

[They  sit ,  Sheelah  near  fire,  Colleen  on  stool  beside  her ,  Fathek  Tom  in 

chair,  Myles  on  stool ,  l.  of  table. 

Father  T  Eily,  look  at  that  hoy,  and  tell  me,  haven’t  ye  a  dale  to 
answer  for  ? 

Eily  He  isn't  as  had  about  me  as  he  used  to  he  ;  he’s  getting  over 
it. 

Myles  Yes,  darlin’,  the  storm  has  passed  over,  and  I’ve  got  into 
settled  bad  weather. 

Father  T  Maybe,  afther  all,  ye’d  have  done  better  to  have  married 
Myles  there,  than  be  the  wife  of  a  man  that’s  ashamed  to  own  ye. 

Eily  He  isn’t — he’s  proud  of  me.  It’s  only  when  I  spake  like  the 
poor°people,  and  say  or  do  anything  wrong,  that  he’s  hurt  ;  hut  I’m 
gettin’  clane  of  the  brogue,  and  learnin’  to  do  nothing — I’m  to  he 
vhanged  entirely. 

Myles  Oh  !  if  he’d  lave  me  yer  own  self,  and  only  take  away  wid 
him  his  improvements.  Oh  !  murder— Eily,  aroon,  why  wasn’t  ye 
twins,  an’  I  could  have  one  of  ye,  only  nature  couldn’t  make  two  like 
ye — it  would  he  onroasonable  to  ax  it. 

Eily  Poor  Myles,  do  you  love  me  still  so  much  ? 

Myles  Didn’t  I  lave  the  world  to  folley  ye,  and  since  then  there’s 
been  neither  night  nor  day  in  my  life — I  lay  down  on  Glenna  Point 
above,  where  I  see  this  cottage,  and  I  lived  on  the  sight  of  it.  Oh  ! 
Eily,  if  tears  were  pison  to  the  grass  there  wouldn’t  he  a  green  blade 
on  G  lenna  Hill  this  day. 

Eily  But  you  knew  1  was  married,  Myles. 

Myles  Not  thin,  aroon — Father  Tom  found  me  that  way,  and  sat 
beside,  and  lifted  up  my  soul.  Then  I  confessed  to  him,  and,  sez  he, 
“  Myles,  gu  to  Eily,  she  has  something  to  say  to  you — say  I  sent  you  ” 

I  came,  and  ye  tould  me  ye  were  Hardress  Oregan’s  wife,  and  ihat 
was  a  great  comfort  entirely.  Since  I  knew  that  [Drinks — voice  in  cup.] 

I  haven’t  been  the  blackguard  I  was. 

Father  T  See  the  beauty  of  the  priest,  my  darlin’—  videteet  admirals 
— see  and  admire  it.  It  was  at  confession  that  Eily  tould  me  she 
loved  Cregan,  and  what  did  1  do? — sez  I,  “Where  did  you  meet 
your  sweetheart  ?’’  “  At  Garryowen,”  sez  she.  “  Well,”  says  I ; 

“that’s  not  the  place.”  “Thrue,  your  riverince,  it’s  too  public  en¬ 
tirely,”  sez  she.  “  Ye’ll  mate  him  only  in  one  place,’’  sez  I ;  “  and 
that’s  the  stile  that’s  behind  my  chapel,”  for,  d'ye  see,  her  mother's 
grave  was  forenint  the  spot,  and  there’s  a  sperrit  round  the  place, 
[Myles  drinks, J  that  kept  her  pure  and  strong.  Myles,  ye  thate,  drink 
fair. 

Sheelah  Come  now,  Eily,  couldn’t  ye  cheer  up  his  riverince  wid  th* 
tail  of  a  song  ? 

Eily  Hardress  bid  me  not  sing  any  ould  Irish  songs,  he  says  the 

(rords  are  vulgar. 


14 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


Sheelah  Father  Tom  will  give  ye  absolution 

Father  T  Put  your  lips  to  that  jug  ;  there’s  only  the  strippens  left. 
Drink  !  and  while  that  thrue  Irish  liquor  warms  your  heart,  take  thia 
wid  it.  May  the  brogue  of  ould  Ireland  niver  forsake  your  tongue — 
may  her  music  niver  lave  yer  voice — and  may  a  true  Irishwoman’s 
virtue  niver  die  in  your  heart ! 

Myles  Come,  Eily,  it’s  my  liquor — haven't  ye  a  word  to  say  for  it ! 
Sony,  Eily — “  Oruiskeen  Lawn." 

Let  the  farmer  praise  bis  grounds, 

As  the  huntsman  doth  his  hounds, 

And  the  shepherd  his  fresh  and  dewy  mom  ; 

But  I,  more  blest  than  they, 

Spend  each  night  and  happy  day. 

With  my  smilin’  little  Crusikeen  Lawn,  Lawn,  Lawn 
Chorus  [Repeat.]  Gramachree,  mavourneen,  slanta  gal  avourneen, 
Gramachree  ma  Cruiskeen  Lawn,  Lawn,  Lawn, 

With  my  smiling  little  Cruiskeen  Lawn. 

[Chorused  ly  Myles,  Father  T.,  and  Sheelah. 

Myles. 

And  when  grim  Death  appears, 

In  long  and  happy  years, 

To  tell  me  that  my  glass  is  run, 

I’ll  say,  begone  you  slave, 

For  great  Bacchus  gave  me  lave 

To  have  another  Cruiskeen  Lawn — Lawn — Lawn. 

Chorus.  — Repeat. 

Gramachree,  &c.,  &c. 

Hard  [Without,  l.  u.  e.]  Ho!  Sheelah — Sheelah! 

Sheelah  [Rising.]  Whist !  it’s  the  master. 

Eily  [Frightened.]  Hardress  !  oh,  my  !  what  will  he  say  if  he  findfl 
as  here — run,  Myles — quick,  Sheelah — clear  away  the  things. 

Lather  T  Hurry  now,  or  we’ll  get  Eily  in  throuble. 

[Takes  Jceg — Myles  takes  jugs— Sheelah  kettle. 

Hard  Sheelah,  I  say  ! 

[Exeunt  Father  Tom  and  Myles,  r.  u.  e.,  quickly. 
Sheelah  Cornin’,  Sir,  I’m  puttin’  on  my  petticoat. 

[Exit  Sheelah,  r.  d.  e.  ,  quickly . 

Enter  Hardress  and  Danny,  l.  u.  e.  opening  —Danny  immediately  goes 

Off,  R.  U.  E 

Eily  [o.]  Oh,  Hardress,  asthore  ? 

Hard  [l.  c.]  Don’t  call  me  by  those  confounded  Irish  words — whet's 
the  matter?  you’re  trembling  like  a  bird  caught  in  a  trap. 

Edy  Am  I,  mavou—  no  I  mean —is  it  tremblin’  I  am,  dear? 

Hard  What  a  dreadful  smell  of  tobacco  there  is  here,  and  the  fumes 
of  whisky  punch,  too  ;  the  place  smells  like  a  shebeen.  Who  hae 
been  here? 

Eily  There  was  Father  Tom,  an-  Myles  dhropj»ed  in. 

Hard  Nice  company  for  my  wife— a  vagabond. 


COLLEEN  BAWN.  U 

Edy  Ah  !  who  made  him  so  but  me,  dear?  Before  I  saw  you,  Hard- 
regg,  Myles  coorted  me,  and  I  was  kindly  to  the  boy. 

Hard  Damn  it,  Eily,  why  will  you  remind  me  that  my  -rife  wa« 
ever  in  such  a  position  ? 

Eily  I  won’t  see  him  again — if  yer  angry,  dear,  I’ll  tell  him  to  go 
away,  and  he  will,  because  the  poor  boy  lcves  me. 

Hard  Yes,  better  than  I  do  you  mean? 

Eily  No,  I  don’t — oh  !  why  do  you  spake  so  to  your  poor  Eily  ! 

Hard  Spake  so  !  Can’t  you  say  speak  ? 

Eily  I’ll  thry,  aroon — I’m  sthriviu’ — ’tis  mighty  hard,  but  what 
wouldn’t  I  undert-tee-ta — undergo  for  your  sa-se — for  your  seek. 

Hard  Sake — sake  ! 

Eily  Sake — seek — oh,  it  is  to  bother  people  entirely  they  mixed 
’em  up  !  Why  didn’t  they  make  them  all  one  way  ? 

Hard  [Aside.]  It  is  impossible  !  How  can  I  present  her  as  my  wife ? 
Oh  !  what  an  act  of  madness  to  tie  myself  to  one  so  much  beneath 
me — beautiful — good  as  she  is — 

Eily  Hardress,  you  are  pale — what  has  happened  ? 

Hard  Nothing — that  is,  nothing  but  what  you  will  rejoice  at. 

Eily  What  d’ye  mane? 

Hard  What  do  I  mane !  Mean — mean  ! 

Eily  I  beg  your  pardon,  dear. 

Hard  Well  ;  I  mean  that  after  to-morrow  there  will  be  no  necessity 
to  hide  our  marriage,  for  I  shall  be  a  beggar,  my  mother  will  be  an 
outcast,  and  amidst  all  the  shame,  who  will  care  what  wife  a  Cregan 
takes  ? 

Eily  And  d’ye  think  I’d  like  to  see  you  dhragged  down  to  my  side 
— ye  don’t  know  me — see  now — never  call  me  wife  again — don’t  let 
on  to  mortal  that  we’re  married— I’ll  go  as  a  servant  in  your  moth¬ 
er’s  house — I’ll  work  for  the  smile  ve’ll  give  me  in  passing,  and  I’ll 
be  happy,  if  ye’ll  only  let  me  stand  outside  and  hear  your  voice. 

Hard  You’re  a  fool.  I  told  you  that  I  was  bethrothed  to  the  rich¬ 
est  heiress  in  Kerry;  her  fortune  alone  can  save  us  from  ruin.  To-night 
my  mother  discovered  my  visits  here,  and  I  told  her  who  you 
were. 

Eily  Oh  !  what  did  she  say  ? 

Hard  It  broke  her  heart. 

Eily  Hardress  !  is  there  no  hope  ? 

Hard  None.  That  is  none — that — that  I  can  name. 

Eily  There  is  one — I  see  it. 

Hard  There  is.  We  wrere  children  when  we  were  married,  and  I 
could  get  no  priest  to  join  our  hands  but  one,  and  he  had  been  dis¬ 
graced  by  his  bishop.  He  is  dead.  There  was  no  witness  to  the  cere¬ 
mony  but  Danny  Mann — no  proof  but  his  word,  and  your  certificate 

Eily  [Takes  paper  from  her  breast.]  This! 

Hard  Eily  !  if  you  doubt  my  eternal  love,  keep  that  security  ;  it 
gives  you  the  right  to  the  shelter  of  my  roof  ;  but  oh  !  if  you  would 
be  content  with  the  shelter  of  my  heart. 

Edy  And  will  it  save  ye,  Hardress  ?  And  will  your  mothei  forgive 
me  ? 

Hard  She  will  bless  you — she  will  take  you  to  her  breast. 

Eily  But  you — another  will  take  you  to  her  breast. 

Hard  Oh,  Eily,  darling,  d’ye  think  I  could  forget  you,  maclvree— » 
forget  tho  sacrifice  more  than  blood  you  give  me  ? 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


(6 


Eily  Oh !  when  you  talk  that  way  to  me,  ye  might  take  my  life 
and  heart,  and  all.  Oh  !  Har  Iress,  I  love  you — take  the  paper  and 
tare  it.  [Hardress  take*  paper. 

Enter  Myles  g.,  opening. 

Myles  No.  I’ll  be  damnei  if  he  shall. 

Hard  Scoundrel !  you  have  been  listening  ? 

Myles  To  every  word.  I  saw  Danny,  wid  his  ear  agin  that  dure,  so 
as  there  was  only  one  k ay-hole,  I  adopted  the  windy.  Eily,  aroon, 
Mr.  Cregan  will  giv’  ye  back  that  paper  ;  you  can’t  tare  up  an  oath; 
will  ye  help  him  then  to  cheat  this  other  girl,  and  to  make  her  his 
mistress,  for  that’s  what  she’ll  be  if  ye  are  his  wife.  An’  after  all, 
what  is  there  agin’  the  crature  ?  Only  the  money  she’s  got.  Will 
^ou  stop  lovin’  him  when  his  love  belongs  to  another?  No !  I  know 
it  by  myself ;  but  if  ye  jine  their  hands  together  your  love  will  be  an 
adultry. 

Eily  Oh,  no! 

Hard  Vagabond  !  outcast !  jail  bird  !  dare  you  prate  of  honor  to 
me  ? 

Myles  [c.]  I  am  an  outlaw,  Mr.  Cregan — a  felon,  may  be — but  ii 
you  do  this  thing  to  that  poor  girl  that  loves  you  so  much — had  I 
my  neck  in  the  rope — or  my  fut  on  the  deck  of  a  convict  ship — I’d 
turn  round  and  say  to  ye,  “  Hardress  Cregan,  I  make  ye  a  presen* 
of  the  contimpt  of  a  rogue."  [Snaps  finger*. 

Music  till  end  of  Ad. — Enter  Father  Tom,  Sheelah  and  Danny,  r.  u.  e. 

— Hardress  throws  down  paper — goes  to  table — takes  hat. 

Hard  Be  it  so,  Eily,  farewell !  until  my  house  is  clear  of  these  ver¬ 
min — [Danny  appears  at  back] — you  will  see  me  no  more. 

[Exit  Hardress,  l.  c.,  followed  by  Danny. 

Eily  Hardress— Hardress !  [Going  up .]  Don’t  leave  me,  Hardress  ll 

Father  T  [Intercepts  her.]  Stop,  Eily !  [Danny  returns  and  listens. 

Eily  He’s  cone — he’s  gone  ! 

Father  T  Give  me  that  paper,  Myles.  [Myles picks  it  up — gives  it.] 
ELneel  down  there,  Eily,  before  me — put  that  paper  in  your  breast. 

Eily  [Kneeling.]  Oh,  what  will  I  do — what  will  I  do? 

Father  T  Put  your  hand  upon  it  now. 

Eily  Oh,  my  heart — my  heart ! 

Father  T  Be  thee  hush,  and  spake  after  me — by  my  mother  that’w 
In  heaven. 

Eily  By  my  mother  that’s  in  heaven. 

Father  T  By  the  light  and  the  word. 

Eily  By  fcho  light  and  the  word. 

Father  T  Sleepin’  or  waivin’. 

Eily  Sleepin’  or  wakin’. 

Father  T  This  proof  of  my  truth. 

Eily  This  proof  of  my  truth. 

Father  T  Shall  never  again  quit  my  breast. 

BUy  Shall  never  again  quit  my  breast. 

Eily  utters  a  cry  and  falls — Tableau. 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


1? 


ACT  II. 

CENE  I  — [1  st  Grooves.] — Gap  of  Dunloe  ;  same  as  id  Scene,  Ad  !.-> 

Music , 

Ente'r  Hardress  and  Danny,  l.  1  b. 

Hard  [r.]  Oh,  what  a  giddy  fool  I’ve  been!  What  would  I  give 
to  recall  this  fatal  act  which  bars  my  fortune  ? 

Danny  [l.]  There’s  something  throublin’  yez,  Masther  Hardresa. 
Can’t  Danny  do  something  to  aise  ye  ?  Spake  the  word,  and  I’ll  die 
for  ye. 

Hard  Danny,  I  am  troubled.  I  was  a  fool  when  I  refused  to  listen 
to  you  at  the  chapel  of  Castle  Island. 

Danny  When  I  warned  ye  to  have  no  call  to  Eily  O’Connor  ? 

Hard  I  was  mad  to  marry  her. 

Danny  I  knew  she  was  no  wife  for  you.  A  poor  thing  widout  any 
manners,  or  money,  or  book  lamin’,  or  a  ha’porth  o’  fortin’.  Oh, 
worra  !  I  told  ye  that,  but  ye  bate  me  off,  and  here  now  is  the  way 

of  it. 

Hard  Well,  it’s  done,  and  can’t  be  undone. 

Danny  Bedad,  I  dun  know  that.  Wouldn’t  she  untie  the  knot 
herself — couldn’ t  ye  coax  her  ? 

Hard  No. 

Danny  Is  that  her  love  for  you?  You  that  give  up  the  divil  an’ 
all  for  her.  What’s  her  ruin  to  yours?  Ruin — goredoutha — ruin  ia 
it  ?  Don’t  I  pluck  a  shamrock  and  wear  it  a  day  for  the  glory  of  St. 
Patrick,  and  then  throw  it  away  when  it’s  gone  by  my  likin’s.  What 
is  she  to  be  ruined  by  a  gentleman  ?  Whoo  !  Mighty  good  for  the 
likes  o’  her. 

Hard  She  would  have  yielded,  but — 

Danny  Asy  now,  an’  I’ll  tell  ye.  Pay  her  passage  out  to  Quaybeck 
and  put  her  aboord  a  three-master,  widout  sayin’  a  word.  Lave  it  to 
me.  Danny  will  clear  the  road  foreninst  ye. 

Hard  Fool,  if  she  still  possesses  that  certificate — the  proof  of  my 
first  marriage — how  can  I  dare  to  wed  another?  Commit  bigamy — 
disgrace  my  wife— bastardize  my  children  ? 

Danny  Den  by  the  powers,  I’d  do  by  Eily  as  wid  the  glove  there 
on  yer  hand  ;  make  it  come  off  as  it  came  on — an’  if  it  fits  too  tight, 
take  the  knife  to  it. 

Hard  \Turninq  to  him.]  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Danny  Only  gi’  me  the  word,  an’  I’ll  engage  that  the  Colleen  Bawc 
will  never  trouble  ye  any  more  ;  don’t  ax  me  any  questions  at  all. 
Only — if  you’re  agreeable,  take  off  that  glove  from  yer  hand  an’  give 
it  to  me  for  a  token— that’s  enough. 

Hard  \T  brows  off  cloak  ;  seizes  him  ;  throws  him  do  urn.]  Villain!  Dare 
you  utter  a  word  or  meditate  a  thought  of  violence  towards  that 
girl— 

Danny  Oh,  murder  !  may  I  never  die  in  sin,  if — 

Hard  Begone  !  away,  at  once,  and  quit  my  sight.  I  have  chosen 
my  doom  !  I  must  learn  to  endure  it — but  blood  ! — and  hers  !  Shall 
I  make  cold  and  still  that  heart  that  beats  alone  for  me  ? — quench 
those  eyeB  that  look  so  tenderly  in  mine  ?  Monster  !  am  1  eo  vil« 
that  you  dare  to  whisper  such  a  thought  ? 


18 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


Danny  Oh,  masther  !  divil  burn  me  if  I  meant  any  harm. 

Hard  Mark  me  well,  now.  Respect  my  wife  as  you  would  the 
queen  of  the  laud — whisper  a  word  such  as  those  you  uttered  to  me, 
and  it  will  be  your  last.  1  warn  ye — remember  and  obey. 

[  Exit  Hardress,  r. 

Danny  [Rises— picks  up  cloak.]  Oh,  the  darlin’  crature  !  would  I 
harrum  a  hair  of  her  blessed  head  ? — no  !  Not  unless  you  gave  me 
that  glove,  and  den  I’d  jump  into  the  bottomless  pit  for  ye. 

[Exit  Danny,  r.  Music — change. 

ftOENE  II. — Room  in  Mrs.  Creqan’s  house;  window ,  r.,  in,  flat,  hacked  by 
landscape  ;  door,  l.  ,  in  flat ;  hacked  hy  interior.  Lights  up. 

Enter  Anne  Chute,  l.  in  flat. 

Anne  That  fellow  runs  in  my  head.  [ Looking  at  window.]  There  he 
Lb  in  the  garden,  smoking  like  a  chimney-pot.  [Calls.]  Mr.  Daly  1 

Kyrle  [Outside  window.]  Good  morning  ! 

Anne  [Aside.]  To  think  he’d  smile  that  way,  after  going  Leandering 
all  night  like  a  dissipated  young  owl.  [Aloud.]  Did  you  sleep  well  ? 
[Aside.]  Not  a  wink,  you  villain,  and  you  know  it. 

Kyrle  I  slept  like  a  top. 

Anne  [Aside.]  I’d  like  to  have  the  whipping  of  ye.  [Aloud.]  When 
did  you  get  back  ? 

Kyrle  Get  back  !  I’ve  not  been  out. 

Anne  [Aside.]  He’s  not  been  out !  This  is  what  men  come  to  after 
a  cruise  at  sea — they  get  sunburnt  with  love.  Those  foreign  donnas 
teach  them  to  make  fire-places  of  their  hearts,  and  chimney-pots  of 
their  mouths.  [Aloud.]  What  are  you  doing  down  there  ?  [Aside.] 
As  if  he  was  stretched  out  to  dry.  [Kyrle  puts  down  pipe  outside. 

Enter  Kyrle  through  window,  r.,  mflat. 

Kyrle  [r.  c.]  I  have  been  watching  Hardress  coming  over  from 
Divil’s  Island  in  his  boat  —the  wind  was  dead  against  him. 

Anne  [l.  o.]  It  was  fair  for  going  to  Divil’ s  Island  last  night,  I  be¬ 
lieve. 

Kyrle  Was  it  ? 

Anne  You  were  up  late,  I  think  ? 

Kyrle  I  was.  I  watched  by  my  window  for  hours,  thinking  of  her 
I  loved — slumber  overtook  me,  and  I  dreamed  of  a  happiness  I  never 
can  hope  for. 

Anne  Look  me  straight  in  the  face. 

Kyrle  Oh  !  if  some  fairy  could  strike  us  into  stone  now — and  leave 
us  looking  forever  into  each  other’s  faces,  like  the  Hue  lake  below 
and  the  sky  above  it ! 

Anne  Kyrle  Daly  !  What  would  you  say  to  a  man  who  had  two 
loves,  one  to  whom  he  escaped  at  night,  and  the  other  to  whom  he 
devoted  himself  during  the  day — what  would  you  say  ? 

Kyrle  I’d  say  he  had  no  chance. 

Anne  Oh,  Captain  Cautious  !  Well  answered.  Isn’t  he  fit  to  take 
care  of  anybody  !  his  cradle  was  cut  out  of  a  witness-box. 

Enter  Hardress  through  window ,  r.  ,  in  flat. 

Kyrle  [r.]  Anne  !  I  don’t  know  what  you  mean,  but  that  I  know 
that  I  love  you,  and  you  are  sporting  with  a  wretchedness  you  can 


COLLEEN  HAW 


19 


not  console.  I  was  wrong  to  remain  here  so  long,  but  I  thought  my 
friendship  fcr  Hardress  would  protect  me  against  your  invasion— now 
I  will  go.  [Hardress  advancing. 

Hard  [c.]  No,  Kyrle,  you  will  stay.  Anne,  he  loves  you,  and  I 
more  than  suspect  you  prefer  him  to  me.  From  this  moment  you 
are  free  ;  I  release  you  from  all  troth  tome:  in  his  presence  I  do  this. 

Anne  [l.]  Hardress  ! 

Hard  There  is  a  bar  between  us  which  you  should  have  known  be 
fore,  but  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  confess.  Forgive  me,  Anne— 
you  deserve  a  better  man  than  I  am.  [Jxit,  l. 

Anne  A  bar  between  us  !  What  does  he  mean  ? 

Kyrle  He  means  that  lie  is  on  the  verge  of  ruin :  he  did  not  know 
how  bad  things  were  till  last  night.  His  generous  noble  heart  re¬ 
coils  from  receiving  anything  from  you  but  love. 

Anne  And  does  lie  think  I’d  let  him  be  ruined  any  way  ?  Does  he 
think  I  wouldn’t  sell  the  last  rood  of  land — the  gown  off  my  back, 
and  the  hair  off  my  head,  before  that  boy  that  protected  and  loved 
me,  the  child,  years  ago,  should  come  to  a  hap’orth  of  harrum  ? 

[Crosses  to  R. 

Kyrle  Miss  Chute  ! 

Anne  Well,  1  can’t  help  it.  When  I  am  angry  the  brogue  comes 
out,  and  my  Irish  heart  will  burst  through  manners,  and  graces,  and 
twenty  stay-laces.  [ Crosses  to  l.]  I’ll  give  up  my  fortune — that  I 

will ! 

Kyrle  You  can’t — you’ve  got  a  guardian  who  can  not- consent  to 
such  a  sacrifice. 

Anne  Have  I  ?  then  I’ll  find  a  husband  that  will. 

Kyrle  [Aside. j  She  means  me — 1  see  it  her  eyes. 

Anne  [Aside. f  He’s  trying  to  look  unconscious.  [Aloud.]  Kyrle 
Daly,  on  your  nonor  and  word  as  a  gentleman,  do  you  love  me  and 
nobody  else  ? 

Kyrle  Do  you  think  me  capable  of  contaminating  your  image  by 
admitting  a  meaner  passion  into  my  breast  ? 

Anne  Yes,  I  do. 

Kyrle  Then  you  wrong  me. 

Anne  I’ll  prove  that  in  one  word.  Take  care,  now  ;  it’s  coming. 

Kyrle  Go  on. 

Anne  [Adde.]  Now  I’ll  astonish  him.  [Aloud.]  Eily  ! 

Kyrle  What’s  that  ? 

Anne  “Shule,  shule,  agrah  !” 

Kyrle  Where  to  ? 

Anne  Three  winks,  as  much  as  to  say,  “  Are  you  coming  ?”  and  an 
extinguisher  above  here  means  “  Yes."  Now  you  see  I  know  all 
about  it. 

Kyrle  You  have  the  advantage  of  me. 

Anne  Confess  now,  and  I’ll  forgive  you. 

Kyrle  I  will  ;  tell  me  what  to  confess,  and  I’ll  confess  it— I  don’t 
care  what  it  is. 

Anne  [Aside.]  If  I  hadn’t  eye  proof  he  brazen  it  out  of  me.  Isn’t 
he  cunning?  He’s  one  of  those  that  would  get  fat  where  a  fox  would 
starve. 

Kyrle  That  was  a  little  excursion  into  my  past  life — a  sudden  de¬ 
scent  on  my  antecedents,  to  see  if  you  could  not  surprise  an  infidelity 
—but  I  defy  you. 


2C 


COLLEEN  BaWN. 


Anne  You  do?  I  accept  that  defiance  ;  and,  mind  me,  Eyrie.  If  1 
find  you  true  as  I  once  thought,  there’s  my  hand  ;  but  if  you  arc 
false  in  this,  Anne  Chute  will  never  change  her  name  for  yours.  [Hi 
kisses  her  ha?id.]  Leave  me  now. 

Kyrle  Oh,  the  lightness  you  have  given  to  my  heart !  The  number 
of  pipes  I’ll  smoke  this  afternoon  will  make  them  think  we’ve  got  a 
haystack  on  fire.  [Exit  Kyrle,  through  window ,  r. 

Anne  [Rings  hell  on  table ,  r.]  Here,  Pat,  Barney,  some  one. 

Enter  Servant,  l.  door  in  flat. 

Tell  Larry  Dolan,  my  groom,  to  saddle  the  black  mare,  Fireball,  but 
not  bring  her  round  the  house — I’ll  mount  in  the  stables. 

[Exit  Servant,  l.  door  in  flat. 

I’ll  ride  over  to  Muckross  Head,  and  draw  that  cottage  ;  I’ll  know 
what’s  there.  It  mayn’t  be  right,  but  I  haven’t  a  big  brother  to  see 
after  me — and  self-protection  is  the  first  law  of  nature. 

[Exit  Anne,  r.  1  e. 

Music.  Enltr  Mrs.  Creg  an  and  Hardress,  l.  door  in  flat. 

Mrs.  C  [r.  c.]  What  do  you  say,  Hardress? 

Hard  [l.  c.]  I  say,  mother,  that  my  heart  and  faith  are  both  al¬ 
ready  pledged  to  another,  and  I  can  not  break  my  engagement. 

Mrs.  C  And  this  is  the  end  of  all  our  pride  ! 

Hard  Repining  is  useless — thought  and  contrivance  are  of  no  avail 
—the  die  is  cast. 

Mrs.  C  Hardress,  I  speak  not  for  myself,  but  for  you — and  I  would 
rather  see  you  in  your  coffin  than  married  to  this  poor,  lowborn,  silly, 
vulgar  creature.  I  know  you,  my  son  ;  you  will  be  miserable  when 
the  infatuation  of  first  love  is  past  ;  when  you  turn  from  her  and  face 
the  world,  as  one  day  you  must  do,  you  will  blush  to  say,  “  This  is 
my  wife.”  Every  word  from  her  mouth  will  be  a  pang  to  your  pride. 
You  will  follow  her  movements  with  terror — the  contempt  and  deri¬ 
sion  she  excites  will  rouse  you  first  to  remorse,  and  then  to  hatred — 
and  from  the  bed  to  which  you  go  with  a  blessing,  you  will  rise  with 
a  curse. 

Hard  Mother  !  mother !  [Throws  himself  in  chair. 

Mrs .  C  To  Anne  you  have  acted  a  heartless  and  dishonorable  part— 
her  name  is  already  coupled  with  yours  at  every  fireside  in  Kerry 

Enter  Servant,  l.  door  in  flat. 

Serv  Mr.  Corrigan,  ma’am. 

Mrs.  C  He  comes  for  his  answer.  Show  him  in. 

[Exit  Servant,  l.  door  in  flat. 

The  hour  has  come,  Hardress — what  answer  shall  I  give  him  ? 

Hard  Refuse  him— let  him  do  his  wrorst. 

Mrs.  G  And  face  beggary  !  On  what  shall  we  live  ?  I  tell  you  th« 
prison  for  debt  is  open  before  us.  Can  you  work  ?  No  !  Will  you 
enlist  as  a  soldier,  and  seed  your  wife  into  service  ?  We  are  ruined — 
d’ye  hear?— ruined  !  I  must  accept  this  man  only  to  give  you  and 
yours  a  shelter,  and  under  Corrigan's  roof  I  may  not  be  asl.amwl 
perhaps,  to  receive  your  wife. 

Entxr  Servant,  showing  in  Mr.  Corrigan,  l.  door  tn  flat. 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


21 


Corrig  [l.]  Good  morning,  ma'am  ;  I  am  punctual,  you  perceive. 

Mrs.  C  [o.]  We  have  considered  your  offer,  sir,  and  we  see  no  alter- 
■ative  -but — but  - 

Corrig  Mrs.  Cregan,  I’m  proud,  ma’am,  to  take  your  hand. 

Hard  [ Starting  up.]  Begone — begone,  I  say  ;  touch  her,  and  I’ll 
brain  you ! 

Corng  Squire  !  Sir  !  Mr.  Hardress  ! 

Haid  Must  I  hurl  you  from  the  house  ? 

/ 

Enter  two  Servants,  door  in  flat. 

Mrs.  0  Hardress,  my  darling  boy,  restrain  yourself. 

Corrig  Good  morning,  ma’am.  I  have  my  answer.  [ To  Servant.! 
Is  Miss  Chute  within  ? 

Serv  No,  sir  -  she’s  just  galloped  out  of  the  stable  yard. 

Corrig  Say  I  called  to  see  her.  I  will  wait  upon  her  at  this  houi 
to-morrow.  [ Looking  at  the  Cregans .]  To-morrow  !  to-morrow  ! 

[Exit,  followed  by  Servants,  l.  door  in  flat. 

Mrs.  C  To-morrow  will  see  us  in  Limerick  Jail,  and  this  house  in 
the  hands  of  the  sheriff. 

Hard  Mother,  heaven  guide  and  defend  me  !  let  me  rest  for  a  while 
— you  don’t  know  all  yet,  and  I  have  not  the  heart  to  tell  you. 

[Crosses  l. 

Mrs.  C  With  you.  Hardress,  I  can  bear  anything — anything — but 
four  humiliation  and  your  unhappiness — 

Hard  I  know  it,  mother,  I  know  it.  [Exit,  l.  1  e.  Music. 

Danny  appears  at  window ,  r.,  in  flat. 

Danny  Whisht— missiz — whisht. 

Mrs.  C  [l.  c.]  Who’s  there? 

Danny  It’s  me,  sure,  Danny — that  is — I  know  the  throuble  that’s 
tn  it.  I’ve  been  through  it  all  wid  him. 

Mrs.  C  You  know,  then  ? 

Danny  Everything,  ma’am  ;  and,  sure,  I  slitruv  hard  and  long  to 
impache  him  from  doing  it. 

Mrs.  C  Is  he,  indeed,  so  involved  with  this  girl  that  he  will  not 
give  her  up? 

Danny  No  ;  he’s  got  over  the  worst  of  it,  but  she  holds  him  tight, 
and  he  feels  kindly  and  soft-hearted  for  her,  and  daren’t  do  what 
another  would. 

Mrs.  C  Dare  not? 

Danny  Sure  she  might  be  packed  off  across  the  wather  to  Ameriky, 
or  them  parts  beyant  ?  Who’d  ever  ax  a  word  afther  her  ?  barrin 
the  masther,  who’d  murdlier  me  if  he  knew  I  whispered  such  a 

thing. 

Mrs.  C  But  would  she  go? 

Danny  Ow,  ma’am,  wid  a  taste  of  persuasion,  we  a  mulvatnei  hei 
aboord.  But  there’s  another  way  again,  and  it  ye  d  only  coax  the 
masther  to  send  me  his  glove,  he’d  know  the  manin  of  that  token, 
and  so  would  I. 

Mrs.  C  His  gl  ove? 

Danny  Sorra  a  ha’porth  else.  If  he’ll  do  that,  I  11  take  my  oath 
ye’ll  hear  no  more  of  the  Colleen  Bawn. 

Mrs.  C  I’ll  see  ray  son.  [Exit  l.  d.  r. 

Danny  Taru  an’  ’ouns,  that  lively  girl.  Miss  Chute,  has  crons  tn# 


22 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


road  to  Muckross  Head  ;  I’ve  watched  her — I’ve  got  my  eye  on  afl 
of  them.  If  she  sees  Eily — ow,  ow,  sh>j"ilget  the  ring  itself  in  thal 
helpin’  maybe,  of  kale-canon.  By  the  piper.  I’ll  run  across  the  lake, 
and  get  there  first ;  she’s  got  a  long  round  to  go,  and  the  wind 
rising — a  purty  blast  entirely. 

[Goes  to  window — Music. 

Re-enter  Mrs.  Cregan,  l.  d.  f.,  with  glow. 

Mrs.  C  [Aside  ]  I  found  his  gloves  in  the  hall,  where  he  Had  thitj  m 
them  in  his  hat. 

Danny  Did  ye  ax  him,  ma’am  ? 

Mrs.  C  I  did — and  here  is  the  reply.  [Holds  out  glove 

Danny  He  has  changed  his  mind,  then  ? 

Mrs.  C  He  has  entirely. 

Danny  And — and — I  am — to — do  it  ? 

Mrs.  C  That  is  the  token. 

Danny  I  know  it — I’ll  keep  my  promise.  I’m  to  make  away  witt 
her  ? 

Mrs.  O  Yes,  yes — take  her  away — away  with  her  ! 

[Exit  Mrs.  Cregan,  l.  door  in  flat. 

Danny  Never  fear,  ma’am.  [Going  to  window .]  He  shall  never 
see  or  hear  again  of  the  Colleen  Bawn. 

[Exit  Danny  through  window — change. 


SCENE  III. — Exterior  of  Eily's  Cottage;  Cottage ,  r.  3.  e.  ;  set  jpiec+^ 
backed  by  Lake  ;  table  and  two  seats,  r.  0. 

Sheelaii  and  Eily  discovered,  knitting. 

Sheelah  [r.]  Don’t  cry,  darlin’— don’t,  alanna  ! 

Eily  [l.]  He’ll  never  come  back  to  me — I’ll  never  see  him  again, 
Sheelah ! 

Sheelah  Is  it  lave  his  own  wife  ? 

Eily  I’ve  sent  him  a  letther  by  Myles,  and  Myles  has  never  come 
back — I’ve  got  no  answer — he  won’t  spake  to  me — I  am  standin’ 
betune  him  and  fortune — I’m  in  the  way  of  his  happiness.  I  wish  I 
was  dead  ! 

Sheelah  Whisht !  be  thee  husht !  what  talk  is  that?  when  I’m  tuk 
sad  that  way,  I  go  down  to  the  chape-l  and  pray  a  turn — it  lifts  the 
cloud  off  my  heart. 

Eily  I  can’t  pray;  I’ve  tried,  but  unless  I  pray  for  him,  I  can’t 
bring  my  mine  to  it. 

Sheelah  I  never  saw  a  colleen  that  loved  as  you  love  ;  sorra  come 
to  me,  but  1  b’lieve  you’ve  got  enough  to  supply  all  Munster,  and 
asore  left  over  than  would  choke  ye  if  you  wern’t  azed  of  it. 

Eily  He’ll  coine  back — I’m  sure  he  will  ;  I  was  wicked  to  doubt. 
Oh  !  Sheelah  !  what  becomes  of  the  girls  he  doesn’t  love  ?  Is  there 
anything  goin’  on  in  the  world  where  he  isn't  ? 

Sheelah  There  now  — you’re  smilin’  again. 

Eily  I’m  like  the  first  mornin’  when  he  met  me — there  was  dew 
on  the  young  day’s  eye — a  smile  on  the  lips  o’  the  lake.  Hardresa 
will  come  back — oh  !  yes  ;  he’ll  never  leave  his  poor  Eily  all  alone 
by  herself  in  this  place.  Whisht,  now,  an’  I’ll  tell  you  [Music. 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


98 


Seng. — Air,  “  Pretty  Girl  Milking  her  Ow.” 

'Twas  on  a  bright  morning  in  summer, 

I  first  heard  his  voice  speaking  low, 

As  he  said  to  a  colleen  beside  me,^ 

“  Who’s  that  pretty  girl  milking  her  cow  f" 

And  many  times  after  he  met  me, 

And  vowed  that  I  always  should  be 
His  own  little  darling  alanna, 

Mavourneen  a  sweelish  machree. 

I  haven’t  the  manners  or  graces 
Of  the  girls  in  the  world  where  ye  move, 

I  haven’t  their  beautiful  faces, 

But  I  have  a  heart  that  can  love. 

If  it  plase  ye,  I’ll  dress  in  satins, 

And  jewels  I’ll  put  on  my  brow, 

But  don’t  ye  be  after  forgettin’ 

Your  pretty  girl  milking  her  cow. 

Sheelah  Ah,  the  birds  sit  still  on  the  boughs  to  listen  to  be;,  and 
the  trees  stop  whisperin’  ;  she  leaves  a  mighty  big  silence  behind  hei 
voice,  that  nothin’  in  nature  wants  to  break.  My  blessin’  on  the 
path  before  her— there’s  an  angel  at  the  other  end  of  it. 

[Exit  Sheelah  in  cottage ,  a. 

Eily  [Repeats  last  line  of  song.] 

Enter  Anne  Chute,  l.  u.  e. 

Anne  There  she  is. 

Eily  [Sings  till  facing  Anne — stops— they  examine  each  other.] 

Anne  My  name  is  Anne  Chute. 

Eily  I  am  Eily  O'Connor. 

Anne  You  are  the  Colleen  Bawn— the  pretty  girl. 

Eily  And  you  are  the  Colleen  Ruaidh. 

Anne  [Aside.]  She  is  beautiful. 

Eily  [Aside.]  How  lovely  she  is. 

Anne  We  are  rivals. 

Eily  I  am  sorry  for  it. 

Anne  So  am  l,  for  I  feel  that  I  could  have  loved  you. 

Eily  That’s  always  the  way  of  it;  everybody  wants  to  lo»e  me 
Dut  there’s  something  spoils  them  off. 

Anne  [Showing  letter.]  l)o  you  know  that  writing  ? 

Eily  I  do,  ma’am,  well,  though  I  don’t  know  how  you  came 

^ Anne  I  saw  your  signals  last  night — I  saw  his  departure,  and  1 
have  come  here  to  convince  myself  of  his  falsehood  to  me  But  now 
that  I  have  seen  you,  you  have  no  longer  a  rival  in  his  love,  for  1 
despise  him  with  all  my  heart,  who  could  bring  one  so  beautiful  and 
simple  as  you  are  to  ruin  and  shame ! 

Eily  He  didn’t— no— I  am  his  wife  1  Ob,  what  have  I  said  I 

Anne  What? 

Eily  Oh,  I  didn’t  mane  to  confess  it— no,  I  didn  t !  but  you  wrung 
tt  from  me  in  defense  ot  him. 

Amu  You  his  wife  ? 


M 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


Enter  Danny,  l.  u.  b 

Danny  [At  back — wide.]  The  divil !  they’re  at  it— an’  Tia  toe 
late  1 

Anne  I  can  not  believe  this — show  me  your  certificate. 

Edy  Here  it  is. 

Danny  [Advances  between  them.]  Didn’t  you  swear  to  the  priest  that 
it  should  niver  lave  your  breast  ? 

Anne  Oh  !  you’re  the  boatman. 

Danny  Iss,  ma’am  1 

Anne  Eily,  forgive  me  for  doubting  your  goodness,  and  your  purity 
I  believe  you.  Let  me  take  your  hand.  [Crosses  to  her.]  While  the 
heart  of  Anne  Chute  beats,  you  have  a  friend  that  won’t  be  spoiled 
off,  but  you  have  no  longer  a  rival,  mind  that.  All  I  ask  of  you  is 
that  you  will  never  mention  this  visit  to  Mr.  Daly — and  for  you  [To 
Danny]  this  will  purchase  your  silence.  [Gives  money.]  Good-by! 

[Exit  Anne,  l.  u.  k. 

Danny  Long  life  t' ye.  [Aside.]  What  does  it  mane  ?  Hasn’t  she 
found  me  out? 

Eily  Why  did  she  ask  me  never  to  spake  to  Mr.  Daly  of  her  visi 
here  ?  Sure  I  don  t  know  any  Mr.  Daly. 

Danny  Didn’t  she  spake  of  him  before,  dear  ? 

Eily  Never ! 

Danny  Nor  didn’t  she  name  Master  Hardress? 

Eily  W^ll,  I  don’t  know  ;  she  spoke  of  him  and  of  the  letter  I 
wrote  to  him,  but  I  b’lieve  she  never  named  him  intirely. 

Danny  [Aside.]  The  divil’s  in  it  for  sport;  she’s  got ’em  mixed 
yet. 

Enter  Siieelau  from  cottage ,  r. 

Sheelah  What  brings  you  back,  Danny? 

Danny  Nothing  !  but  a  word  I  have  from  the  masther  for  the  Col¬ 
leen  here. 

Eily  Is  it  the  answer  to  the  letter  I  sent  by  Myles? 

Danny  1  hat’s  it,  jewel,  ho  sent  me  wid  a  message. 

Sheelah  [c.]  Somethin’  bad  has  happened.  Danny,  you  are  at 
pale  as  milk,  and  your  eye  is  full  of  blood — yez  been  drinkin’. 

Danny  May  be  I  have. 

Sheelah  You  thrimble,  and  can’t  spake  straight  to  me.  Oh  !  Daa- 
ny,  what  is  it,  avick  ( 

Danny  Goon  now,  an’  stop  ycr  keenin’. 

Eily  Faith,  it  isn’t  yourself  that’s  in  it,  Danny;  sure  there’s 
aothing  happened  to  Hardress  ? 

Danny  Divil  a  word,  good  or  bad,  I’ll  say  while  the  mother’s 
there. 

Sheelah  I’m  goin’.  [Aside.]  What’s  come  to  Danny  this  day,  at 
all,  at  all ;  bedad,  I  don’t  know  my  own  fieslx  and  blood. 

[Runs  into  cottage. 

Danny  Sorro’  and  ruin  has  come  on  the  Cregans  ;  they’re  broke 
Intirely. 

Eily  Oh,  Danny. 

Danny  Whisht,  now  !  You  are  to  meet  Masther  Hardress  this 
evenin',  at  a  place  on  the  Divil’ s  Island,  beyant.  Ye'll  niver 
breathe  a  word  to  a  mortal  where  yer  goin',  d’ye  mind,  now  ;  but 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


26 


iiip  down,  unbeknown,  to  the  landin’  below,  where  I’ll  have  the 
boat  waitin'  for  yez. 

Eily  At  what  hour  ? 

Danny  Just  after  dark;  there’s  no  moon  to-night,  an’  no  one  will 
6ee  us  crossin’  the  water.  [Music  till  end  of  scene. 

Edy  I  will  be  there  ;  I’ll  go  down  only  to  the  little  chapel  by  the 
shore,  and  pray  there  ’till  ye  come.  [Exit  Eily,  into  cottage,  r. 

Danny  I’m  wake  and  cowld  !  What's  this  coma  over  me?  Moth¬ 
er,  mother,  acushla. 

Enter  Sheelah,  r. 

Sheelah  What  is  it,  Danny  ? 

Danny.  [Staggering  to  table.]  Give  me  a  glass  of  spirits  1 

[Falls  in  chair — Change  quickly. 

SCENE  IV, — The  old  Weir  Bridge ,  or  a  Wood  on  the  verge  of  the  Lalt 

[l«f  grooves.] 

Enter  Anne  Chute,  r. 

Anne  Married  !  the  wretch  is  married  !  and  with  that  crime  al¬ 
ready  on  his  conscience  he  was  ready  for  another  and  similar  piece  of 
villainy.  It’s  the  Navy  that  does  it.  It’s  my  belief  those  sailors 
have  a  wife  in  every  place  they  stop  at. 

Myles  [Sings  outside ,  m,.  | 

“  Oh  !  Eily  astoir,  my  love  is  all  crost, 

Like  a  bud  in  the  frost." 

Anne  Here’s  a  gentleman  who  ha,s  got  my  complaint — his  love  if 
all  crost,  like  a  bud  in  the  frost. 

Enter  Myles,  r. 

Myles  “  And  there’s  no  use  at  all  in  my  goin’  to  bed, 

For  it’s  drames,  and  not  sleep,  that  comes  into  my  head, 

And  it’s  all  about  you,"  etc.,  etc. 

Anne  My  good  friend,  since  you  can’t  catch  your  love,  d’ye  think 
you  could  catch  my  horse  ?  [Distant  thunder. 

Myles  Is  it  a  black  mare  wid  a  white  stockin  on  the  fore  off  leg  ? 

Anne  I  dismounted  to  unhook  a  gate — a  peal  of  thunder  frightened 
her,  and  she  broke  away. 

Myles  She’s  at  Tore  Cregan  stables  by  this  time — it  was  an  adml 
ration  to  watch  her  stride  across  the  Phil  Dolan’s  bit  of  plough. 

Anne  And  how  am  I  to  get  home  ? 

Myles  If  I  had  four  legs,  I  wouldn’t  ax  betther  than  to  carry  ye, 
and  a  proud  baste  I’d  be.  [Thunder — rain. 

A'gie  The  6torm  is  coming  down  to  the  mountain — is  there  no 
shelter  near  ? 

Myles  There  may  be  a  corner  in  this  ould  chapel.  [Rain.]  Hera 
comes  the  rain--murdher  !  ve’H  be  wet  through. 

[Music— pulls  of  coat.]  Put  this  round  yez 

Anne  What  will  you  do?  You’ll  catch  your  death  of  cold. 

Myles  [Taking  out  bottle.]  Cowld  is  it  ?  Here  s  a  wardrobe  of  top  coata. 
[Thunder.]  Whoo  !  this  is  a  line  time  for  the  water — this  way,  ma’am. 

[Exeunt  Myles  and  Anne,  l. 

Enter  Eily,  cloak  and  hood ,  r. 

Eily.  Here’s  the  place  where  Danny  was  to  meet  me  with  the  boat 
Oh  i  here  he  is. 


26 


COLLEEN  BAVYN. 


Enter  Danny,  L. 

flow  pale  you  are ! 

Danny  The  thunder  makes  me  sick. 

Eily  Shall  v,e  not  wait  till  the  storm  is  over  ? 

Danny  If  it  comes  on  bad  we  can  put  into  the  Divil  s  island  Cavo 

Eily  I  feel  so  happy  that  I  am  going  to  see  him,  yet  there  is  v 
weight  about  my  heart  that  I  can’t  account  for. 

Danny  1  can.  [Aside.}  Are  you  ready  now  V 

Eily  Yes;  come — come. 

Danny  [ Staggering  ]  I’m  wake  yet.  Mr  thioat  is  dry — if  I’d  ft 
draught  of  wnisky  now. 

Eii.y  Sheelah  gave  you  a  bottle. 

Danny  I  forgot — it’s  in  the  boat.  [Rain. 

Eily  Here  comes  the  rain — we  shall  get  wet. 

Danny  There’s  the  masther’s  boat  cloak  below. 

Eily  Come,  Danny,  lean  on  me.  I’m  afraid  you  are  not  sober 
enough  to  sail  the  skiff. 

Danny  Sober !  The  dlirunker  I  am,  the  better  I  can  do  the  work 
I've  got  to  do. 

Eily  Come,  Danny,  come — come. 

[Exeunt  Eily  and  Danny,  r. — Music  ceases. 

Re-enter  Anne  Chute  and  Myles,  l. 

Myles  It  was  only  a  shower,  I  b’lieve — are  ye  wet,  ma’am  ? 

Anne.  Dry  as  a  biscuit. 

Myles  Ah!  then  it’s  yerself  is  the  brave  and  beautiful  lady — at 
bould  an’  proud  as  a  ship  before  the  blast.  [Anne  looks  off ,  r. 

Anne  Why,  there  is  my  mare,  and  who  comes  with — [CVosses  to  b. 

Myles  It’s  Mr.  Hardress  Cregan  himself. 

Anne  Hardress  here  ? 

Myles  Eily  gave  me  a  letter  for  him  this  morning. 

Enter  Hardress,  r. 

Hard  Anne,  what  has  happened?  Your  horse  galloped  wildly 
into  the  stable — we  thought  you  had  been  thrown. 

Myles  Here  is  a  lether  Eily  tould  me  to  give  him.  [To  Hardress.]  I 
beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  here’s  the  taste  of  a  lether  I  was  axed  to 
giye  your  honor.  [Gives  letter. 

Hard  [Aside.  |  From  Eily  ! 

Anne  Thanks,  my  good  fellow,  for  your  assistance. 

Myles  Not  at  all,  ma’am.  Sure,  there  isn’t  a  boy  in  the  County 
Kerry  that  would  not  give  two  thumbs  off  his  hands  to  do  ?  service 
to  the  Colleen  Iiuaidh,  as  you  are  called  among  us — i?s  indeed,  ma’am. 
[Going — aside.}  Ah  !  then  it’s  the  purty  girl  she  is,  in  them  long 
clothes.  [Exit  Myles,  r. 

Hard  [Reads,  aside.}  “  I  am  the  cause  of  your  ruin  ;  I  can't  live 
with  that  thought  killin’  me  If  I  do  not  see  you  before  night  you 
will  never  again  be  throubled  with  your  poor  Eily."  Little  simple¬ 
ton  !  she  is  capable  of  doing  herself  an  injury. 

Anne  Hardress !  I  have  been  very  blind  and  very  foolish,  but  to¬ 
day  I  have  learned  to  know  my  own  heart.  rl  here’s  my  hand  ;  I 
wish  to  seal  my  fate  at  once  l  know  the  delicacy  which  prompted 


COLLEEN  BAWN.  27 

fou  to  release  me  from  my  engagement  to  you.  I  don’t  accept  that 
release  ;  I  am  yours. 

Hard  Anne,  you  don’t  know  all. 

Anne  I  know  more  than  I  wanted,  that’s  enough.  I  forbid  yon 
ever  to  speak  on  this  subject. 

Hard  You  don’t  know  my  past  life. 

Anne  And  I  don’t  want  to  know.  I’ve  had  enough  of  looking  inte 
past  lives  ;  don’t  tell  me  anything  you  wish  to  forget. 

Hard  Oh,  Anne — my  dear  cousin  ;  if  I  could  forget — if  silence 
oould  be  oblivion.  [ Exeunt  Hardress  and  Anne,  l. 

SCENE  V. — Exterior  of  Myles'  Hut.  [Is?  grooves.] 

Enter  Myles,  r.,  singing  “  Brian  O'  Linn." 

“  Brian  O’Linn  had  no  breeches  to  wear, 

So  he  bought  him  a  sheepskin  to  make  him  a  pair ; 

The  skinny  side  out,  the  woolly  side  in, 

‘They  are  cool  and  convanient,’  said  Brian  O’Linn.” 

[Locks  door  of  cabin.]  Now  I’ll  go  down  to  my  whisky-still.  It  is 
under  my  feet  this  minute,  bein’  in  a  hole  in  the  rocks  they  call 
O’Donoghue’s  stables,  a  sort  of  water  cave  ;  the  people  around  here 
think  that  the  cave  is  haunted  with  bad  spirits,  and  they  say  that  of 
a  dark  stormy  night  strange  unearthly  noises  is  heard  cornin’  out  of 
it — it  is  me  singing,  “  The  night  before  Larry  was  stretched.”  Now 
I’ll  go  down  to  that  cave,  and  wid  a  sod  of  live  turf  under  a  kettle  of 
worty,  I’ll  invoke  them  spcrrits  -and  what's  more,  they'll  come. 

[Exit  Myl1  s,  singing ,  r.  Music  till  Myles  begins  to  speak  next  scejie. 


SCENE  VI. — A  Cave  ;  through  large  opening  at  back  is  seen  the  Lake  and 

the  Moon  ;  rocks  r  and  l. — flat  rock,  R.  c.  ;  gauge  waters  all  over  stage  ; 

rope  hanging  from  c. ,  hitched  on  wing,  r.  u.  e. 

Enter  Myles,  singing ,  top  of  rock,  r.  u.  e. 

Myles  And  this  is  a  purty  night  for  my  work  !  The  smoke  ot  my 
whisky-still  will  not  be  seen  ;  there’s  my  distillery  beyant  in  a  snug 
hole  up  there,  [Unfastens  rope,  l.]  and  here’s  my  bridge  to  cross  over 
to  it.  I  think  it  would  puzzle  a  gauger  to  folly  me  :  this  is  a  patent 
of  my  own — a  tight-rope  bridge.  [Swings  across  from  r.  to  l.]  Now  I  tie 
up  my  drawbridge  at  this  side  till  I  want  to  go  back — what’s  that 
— it  was  an  otter  I  woke  from  a  nap  he  was  takin’  on  that  bit  of  rock 
there — ow !  ye  divil  !  if  I  had  my  gun  I  d  give  ye  a  leaden  supper. 
I’ll  go  up  and  load  it,  may  be  I'll  get  a  shot ;  them  stones  is  the 
place  where  they  lie  out  of  a  night,  and  many  a  one  I’ve  shot  of  them. 

[Music. — Disappears  up  rock,  l  u.  e. 

Eily  What  place  is  this  you  have  brought  me  to? 

Danny  Never  fear — I  know  where  I’m  goin’ — step  out  on  that  rock 
■—mind  yer  footin’;  ’ tis  wet  there. 

Eily  I  don’t  like  this  place — it’s  like  a  tomb. 

Danny  Step  out,  I  say  ;  the  boat  is  laking. 

[Eily  steps  on  to  rock ,  r.  c. 

Eily  Why  do  you  spake  to  me  so  rough  and  cruel  ? 


28 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


Dauiy  Eily,  I  have  a  word  to  say  t’ye  ;  listen  now,  and  don’t  trie* 
ble  that  way. 

Eily  I  won’t,  Danny — I  won’t. 

Danny  W onst,  Eily,  I  was  a  fine  brave  boy,  the  pride  of  my  ould 
mother  her  white  haired-darlin’ — you  wouldn’t  think  it  to  look  at 
me  now  D'ye  know  how  I  got  changed  to  this  ? 

Eily  It  es,  Hardress  told  me. 

Danny  He  done  it — but  I  loved  him  before  it,  an’  I  loved  him  af¬ 
ter  it — not  a  dhrop  of  blood  I  have,  but  I'd  pour  out  like  wather  for 
the  masther. 

Eily  I  know  what  you  mean — as  he  has  deformed  your  body — 
mined  your  life— made  ye  what  ye  are. 

Danny  Have  you,  a  woman,  less  love  for  him  than  I,  that  you 
wouldn’t  give  him  what  he  wants  of  you,  even  if  he  broke  your  heart 
as  he  broke  my  back,  both  in  a  moment  of  passion?  Did  I  ax  him  to 
ruin  himself  and  his  ould  family,  and  all  to  mend  my  bones  ?  No  ! 
I  loved  him,  and  I  forgave  him  that. 

Eily  Danny,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ? 

[Danny  steps  out  on  to  rock. 

Danny  Give  me  that  paper  in  your  breast? 

[Boat  floats  off  slowly,  r. 

Eily  I  can’t — I’ve  sworn  never  to  part  with  it !  You  know  I  have ! 

Danny  Eily,  that  paper  stands  between  Hardress  Cregan  and  his 
fortune  ;  that  paper  is  the  ruin  of  him.  Give  it,  I  tell  yez. 

Eily  Take  me  to  the  priest  ;  let  him  lift  the  oath  off  me.  Oh, 
Danny,  I  swore  a  blessed  oath  on  my  two  knees,  and  would  ye  ax  m« 
to  break  that  ? 

Danny  [Seizes  her  hands. ~\  Give  it  up,  and  don’t  make  me  hurt  ye. 

Eily  I  swore  by  my  mother’s  grave,  Danny.  Oh !  Danny  dear, 
don’t.  Don’t,  acushla,  and  I’ll  do  anything.  See  now,  what  good 
would  it  be  ?  sure,  while  I  live  I’m  his  wife.  [Music  changes. 

Danny  Then  you’ve  lived  too  long.  Take  your  marriage  lines  wio 
ye  to  the  bottom  of  the  lake. 

[He  throws  her  from  rock  bac/cwards  into  the  water ,  l.  c.,  with  a  cry ;  she  re¬ 
appears,  clinging  to  rock. 

Eily  No  !  save  me  !  Don’t  kill  me  1  Don’t,  Danny,  I’ll  do  any¬ 
thing — only  let  me  live. 

Danny  He  wants  ye  dead.  [Pushes  her  off. 

Eily  Oh,  heaven!  help  me  !  Danny — Dan —  [aSi/iA*. 

Danny  [Looking  down.]  I’ve  done  it — she’s  gone. 

[■SAo*  is  fired,  l.  u.  e.;  he  falls — rolls  from  the  rock  into  the  water ,  R.  0. 

Myles  appears  with  gun,  on  rock,  l.  u.  e. 

Myles  I  hit  one  of  them  bastes  that  time.  I  could  see  well,  though 
it  was  so  dark.  But  there  was  somethin’  moving  on  that  stone, 
f Swings  across  to  r.  u.  e.]  Divil  a  sign  of  him.  Stop  !  [Looks  down.] 
What’s  this?  It’s  a  woman — there’s  something  white  there.  [Fig¬ 
ure  rises  near  rock ,  r.  u.  e.;  kneels  down;  tries  to  take  the  hand  of  figure.] 
Ah  !  that  dress  ! — it’s  Eily.  My  own  darlin’  Eily. 

[Pulls  off  waistcoat — -jumps  off  rock.  Eily  rises,  r.  ;  then  Myle»  and  Eily 
rise  up,  c. ;  he  turns ,  and  seizes  rock ,  a.  o. ;  Eily  across  Iff.  am. 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


29 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  I. — Eyterior  cf  an  Irish  hut  ;  door  and  small  opening ,  r.  o.  Door 

L.  C.  in  flat. 

Truckle  bed  and  bedding ,  r.  c.,  on  which  Danny  Mann  is  discovered ,  tablt 
with  jug  of  water;  lighted  candle  stuck  in  bottle ,  l.  ;  two  stools— S  hekla  H 
at  table ,  L.  Music. 

Danny  [In  his  sleep. ]  Gi’  me  the  paper,  thin — screeching  won’t  gave 
/e — down — down!  [ Wakes .]  Oh,  mother!  darlin’ mother  I 
Sheelah  [  Waking.  ]  Eh  !  did  ye  call  me,  Danny? 

Danny  Gi’  me  a  dhrop  of  wather — it’s  the  thirst  that’s  a  killin’ 
tne. 

Sheelah  [Takes  jug.]  The  fever's  on  ye  mighty  bad. 

Danny  [Drinks,  falls  back,  groans.]  Oh,  the  fire  in  me  won’t  go  out  1 
How  long  have  I  been  here  ? 

Sheelah  Ten  days  this  night. 

Danny  Ten  days  dis  night !  Have  I  been  all  that  time  out  of  my 
mind  ? 

Sheelah  Iss,  Danny.  Ten  days  ago.  that  stormy  night,  ye  crawled 
In  at  that  dure,  wake  an’  like  a  ghost. 

Danny  I  remind  me  now. 

Sheelah  Ye  tould  me  that  ye'd  been  poachin’  salmon,  and  had 
been  shot  by  the  keepers. 

Danny  Who  said  I  hadn’t  ? 

Sheelah  Divil  a  one  !  Why  did  ye  make  me  promise  not  to  say  a 
word  about  it  ?  Didn’t  ye  refuse  even  to  see  a  doctor  itself? 

Danny  Has  any  one  axed  after  me  ? 

Sheelah  No  one  but  Mr.  Hardress. 

Danny  Heaven  bless  him  ! 

Sheelah  I  told  him  I  hadn’t  seen  ye,  Mad  bera  ye  are  this  day  groan- 
h\’  when  there’s  great  d fin’s  up  at  Castle  Chute.  To-morrow  the 
ftiasther  will  be  married  to  Miss  Arne 
Danny  Married  !  but — the — hi 9  — 

Sheelah  Poor  Eilv,  ye  mane  ? 

Danny  Hide  the  candle  from  jpj  oyes — it’s  painin’  me;  shade  it 
off.  Go  on,  mother. 

Sheelah  The  poor  Colleen  1  C h,  no,  Danny,  I  knew  she’d  die  of 
the  love  that  was  clickin'  he\.  He  didn’t  know  how  tindher  she 
ffas  when  he  gave  her  hard  word.  What  was  that  message  the 
nasther  sent  to  her,  'ibut  he  wouldn’t  let  me  hear?  It  was  cruel, 
Danny,  for  it  broke  ncr  heart  entirely  ;  she  went  away  that  night, 
fcnd,  two  days  after.  a  cloak  was  found  floatin’  in  the  reeds,  under 
Brikeen  Bridge  ■  nobody  knew  it  but  me.  I  turned  away,  and  never 
said — .  The  creature  is  drowned,  Danny,  and  woe  to  them  as  dhruv 
her  to  it.  She  has  no  father,  no  mother  to  put  a  curse  on  him,  but 
the  Father  above  that  niver  spakes  till  the  last  day,  and  then — 
[She  turns  ar>J  sees  Dans  7  gasping,  his  eyes  fixed  on  her,  supporting  himselj 
on  his  arm  ]  Danny  !  Danny  !  he’s  dyin’ — he’s  dyin’  ! 

[Runs  to  hint,  r  f  bed. 

Danny  Who  said  tnat  ?  Ye  lie !  I  never  killed  her— sure  he  Mat 
tee  the  glove  —where  is  it  ? 

Sheelah  He’s  ravin’  again. 


80 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


Danny  The  glove— he  sent  it  to  me  full  of  blood.  On,  master, 
dear,  there’s  your  token.  I  told  ye  I  would  clear  the  path  foreninsl 
ye. 

Sheelah  Danny,  what  d'ye  mane? 

Danny  I’ll  tell  ye  how  I  did  it,  masther  ;  ’twas  dis  way — but  don’t 
smile  like  dat— don’t,  sir  !  Sbe  wouldn’t  give  me  de  marriage  lines, 
so  I  sunk  her  and  her  proofs  wid  her.  She's  gone !  sue  came  up 
wonst,  but  I  put  her  down  agin.  Never  fear — she’ll  never  throuble 
yer  again — never — never  ! 

[Lies  down ;  mutters.  Sheelah  on  her  knees ,  in  horror  and  prayer. 

Sheelah  ’Twas  he  !  he  ! — my  own  son — he’s  murdered  her,  and  he’s 
djin’  now— dyin,’  wid  blood  on  his  hands  !  Danny  !  Danny  !  spake 
lo  me  ! 

Danny  A  docther  !  will  they  let  me  die  like  a  baste,  and  never  a 
docther  ? 

Sheelah  I’ll  run  for  one  that’ll  cure  ye.  Oh,  weerasthrue,  Danny 1 
Ts  it  for  this  I’ve  loved  ye  ?  No,  forgive,  acushla,  it  isnT  your  own 
mother  that  ’ud  add  to  yer  heart-breakin’  and  pain.  I’ll  fetch  tht 
docther,  avick.  [Music — puts  on  cloak ,  and  pulls  hood  over  her  head.] 
Oh,  hone  !  oh,  hone  ! 

[Exit  Sheelah,  l.  door  in  flat — a  pause — knock — pause — knock. 

Enter  Corrigan,  door  in  flat,  l.  c 

Corrig  Sheelah  !  Sheelah  !  Nobody  here?  I’m  bothered  entirely. 
The  cottage  on  Muckross  Head  is  empty — not  a  sowl  in  it  but  a  cat. 
Myles  has  disappeared,  and  Danny  gone — vanished,  bedad,  like  a  fog 
— Sheelah  is  the  only  one  remaining.  I  called  to  see  Miss  Chute  ;  I 
was  kicked  out.  1  sent  her  a  letter  ;  it  was  returned  to  me,  un¬ 
opened.  Her  lawyer  has  paid  off  the  mortgage,  and  taxed  my  bill  ol 
costs — the  spalpeen  !  [Danny  groansh\  What’s  that?  Some  one  is 
asleep  there.  ’Tis  Danny  ! 

Danny  A  docther  ! — gi’  me  a  docther  ! 

Corrig  Danny  here — concealed,  too  !  Oh,  there’s  something  going 
on  that’s  worth  peepin’  into.  Whist!  there’s  footsteps  cornin’.  If 
I  could  hide  a  bit.  I’m  a  magistrate,  an’  I  ought  to  know  what’s 
goin’  on — here’s  a  turf-hole,  wid  a  windy  in  it. 

[Exit  Corrigan,  opening  in  flat,  r.  c. 

Enter  Sheelah  and  Father  Tom,  l.  c.  door. 

Sheelah  [Goes  to  Danny.]  Danny  ! 

Danny  Is  that  you,  mother  ? 

Sheelah  I’ve  brought  the  docther,  astliore  [Danny  looks  up. 

Danny  The  priest ! 

Sheelah  [On  her  knees,  r.  of  bed.]  Oh,  my  darlin’!  don’t  be  angry 
wid  me,  but  dis  is  the  docther  you  want ;  it  isn’t  in  your  body  where 
'.he  hurt  is  ;  the  wound  is  in  your  poor  sowl — there’s  all  the  harium 

Father  T  Danny,  my  son — [&'?sl.  of  bed.] — it’s  sore-hearted  I  am  to 
aee  you  down  this  way. 

Sheelah  And  so  good  a  son  he  was  to  his  ould  mother. 

Danny  Don  t  say  that — don’t!  [Covering  his  face. 

Sheelah  I  will  say  it— my  blessin’  on  ye — see  that,  now,  he’s  cryin* 

Father  T  Danny,  the  hand  of  death  is  on  ye.  Will  ye  lave  yom 
sins  behind  ye  here  below,  or  will  ye  take  them  with  ye  above,  to 
show  them  on  ye?  Is  there  anything  ye  can  do  that’ll  mend  a 
wrong?  leave  that  legacy  to  your  friend,  and  he’ll  do  it.  Do  ye 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


31 


want  pardon  of  any  one  down  here  ?  tell  me,  avick  ;  I’ll  get  it  for  y« 
and  send  it  after  you— may  be  ye’ll  want  it. 

Danny  [Rising  up  on  arm.]  I  killed  Eily  O’Connor. 

Sheelah  [Covers  her  face  with  her  hands.  ]  Oh  !  oh  ! 

Father  T  What  harrum  had  ye  agin  the  poor  Colleen  Bawn  ? 

[Corrigan  takes  notes 

Danny  She  stud  in  his  way,  and  he  had  my  heart  and  sowl  in  hie 
keeping. 

Father  T  Hardress  ? 

Danny  Hisself !  I  said  I’d  do  it  for  him,  if  he’d  give  me  the  token 

Father  T  Did  Hardress  employ  you  to  kill  the  girl  ? 

Danny  He  sent  me  the  glove  ;  that  was  to  be  the  token  that  I  was 
Vo  put  her  away,  and  I  did — I — in  the  Pool  a  Dhiol.  She  would  not 
£i’  me  the  marriage  lines  ;  I  threw  her  in  and  then  I  was  kilt. 

Father  T  Killed  !  by  whose  hand  ? 

Danny  I  don’t  know,  unless  it  was  the  hand  of  heaven. 

Father  T  [Rising,  goes  down — aside.]  Myles  naCoppaleen  is  at  the  bot¬ 
tom  of  this  ;  his  whisky-still  is  in  that  cave,  and  he  has  not  been 
seen  for  ten  days  past.  [Aloud— goes  to  Danny.]  Danny,  after  ye  fell, 
how  did  ye  get  home  ? 

Danny  I  fell  in  the  wather  ;  the  current  carried  me  to  a  rock  ;  how 
long  I  was  there  half  drowned  I  don’t  know,  but  on  wakin’  I  found 
my  boat  floatin'  close  by,  an’  it  was  still  dark  ;  I  got  in  and  crawled 
here. 

Father  T  [Aside.]  I’ll  go  and  see  Myles — there’s  more  in  this  than 
has  come  out. 

Sheelah  Won’t  yer  riverince  say  a  word  of  comfort  to  the  poor  boy  f 
He’s  i-n  great  pain  entirely. 

Father  T  Keep  him  quiet,  Sheelah.  [Music.]  I’ll  be  back  again 
with  the  comfort  for  him.  Danny,  your  time  is  short ;  make  the 
most  of  it.  [Aside.]  I'm  off  to  Myles  na  Coppaleen.  Oh,  Hardress 
Cregan — [Going  up] — ye  little  think  what  a  bridal  day  ye’ll  have  ! 

[ Exit  door  in  flat,  l.  o. 

Corrig  [  W ho  has  been  writing  in  note-hook ,  comes  out  at  back.]  I’ve  got 
down  every  word  of  the  confession.  Now,  Hardress  Cregan,  there 
svill  be  guests  at  your  weddin’  to-night  ye  little  dlirame  of. 

[Exit  l.  door  in  flat ,  l.  c. 

Danny  [Rising  up.]  Mother,  mother  1  the  pain  is  on  me.  Wathei 
—quick — wather ! 

[Srreelaii  runs  to  l.  table ;  takes  jug ;  gives  it  to  Danny  ;  he  drinks ;  Sh**» 
lah  takes  jug  ;  Danny  struggles— falls  back  on  bed;  close  on  picture. 

SCENE  II. — Chamber  in  Castle  Chute.  [Is2  Grooves.] 

Enter  Kyrle  Daly  and  Servant,  r. 

Kyrle  Inform  Mrs.  Cregan  that  I  am  waiting  upon  her. 

Enter  Mrs.  Cregan,  l. 

Mrs.  C  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Kyrle.  [Exit  Servant,  i* 

Kyrle  [r.  c.]  You  sent  for  me,  Mrs.  Cregan.  My  ship  sails  from 
Liverpool  to-morrow.  I  never  thought  I  could  be  so  anxious  to  quit 
my  native  land. 

Mrs.  C  I  want  vou  to  set  Hardma*.  For  ten  days  past  he  shuns  th* 


82 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


society  of  his  bride.  By  night  he  creeps  out  alone  in  his  boat  an  the 
lake — by  day  he  wanJers  round  the  neighborhood,  pale  as  death.  He 
is  heart-broken. 

Kyrle  Has  ye  asked  to  see  me  ? 

Mrs.  C  Yesterday  he  asked  where  you  were. 

Kyrle  Did  he  forget  that  I  left  your  house  when  Miss  Chute,  with¬ 
out  a  word  of  explanation,  behaved  so  unkindly  to  me? 

Mrs.  C  She  is  not  the  same  girl  since  she  accepted  Hardress.  She 
quarrels — weeps — complains,  and  has  lost  her  spirits. 

Kyrle  She  feels  the  neglect  of  Hardress 

Anne  [  Without ,  r.]  Don’t  answer  me  !  Obey,  and  hold  your  tongue! 

Mrs.  C  Do  you  hear  ?  she  is  rating  one  c#f  the  seivants. 

Anne  [  Without.]  No  words — I’ll  have  no  sulky  looks,  neither. 

Enter  Anne,  r.  ,  dressed  as  a  bride,  with  a  vail  and  wreath  in  her  hand. 

Anne  Is  ihat  the  vail  and  wreath  I  ordered  ?  How  dare  you  tell 
me  that?  [ Throws  it  off ,  r. 

Mrs.  C  Anne  1  [Anne  sees  Kyrle — stands  confused. 

Kyrle  You  are  surprised  to  see  me  in  your  house,  Miss  Chute  ? 

Anne  You  are  welcome,  sir. 

Kyrle  [A. side .]  She  looks  pale  !  She’s  not  happy — that’s  gratifying. 

Anne  [ Aside .]  He  doesn’t  look  well — that’s  some  comfort. 

Mrs.  C  I’ll  try  to-flnd  Hardress.  [Exit  Mrs.  Cregan,  l. 

Kyrle  I  hope  you  don’t,  think  I  intrude— that  is — I  came  to  see 
Mrs.  Cregan. 

Anne  [Sharply.]  I  don’t  flatter  myself  you  wished  to  see  me  ;  why 
should  you  ? 

Kyrle  Anne,  I  am  sorry  I  offended  you  ;  I  don’t  know  what  I  did, 
but  no  matter. 

Anne  Not  the  slightest. 

Kyrle  I  released  your  neighborhood  of  my  presence. 

Anne  Yes,  and  you  released  the  neighborhood  of  the  presence  of 
somebody  else — she  and  you  disappeared  together. 

Kyrle  She  1 

Anne  Never  mind. 

Kyrle  But  I  do  mind.  I  love  Hardress  Cregan  as  a  brother,  and  J 
hope  the  time  may  come,  Anne,  when  I  can  love  you  as  a  sister. 

Anne  Do  you?  I  don’t. 

Kyrle  I  don't  want  the  dislike  of  my  friend’s  wife  to  part  my  friend 
and  me. 

Anne  Why  should  it?  I’m  nobody. 

Kyrle  If  you  were  my  wife,  and  asked  me  to  hate  any  one,  I’d  do 
it — I  couldn’t  help  it. 

Anne  I  believed  words  like  that  once  when  you  spoke  them,  but  ] 
have  been  taught  how  basely  you  can  deceive. 

KyrU  Who  ta  aght  you  ? 

Anne  Who? — your  wife. 

Kyrle  My  what? 

Anne  Your  wife — the  girl  you  concealed  in  the  cottage  on  Muck- 
rose  Head.  Stop,  now — don’t  speak — save  a  falsehood,  howeve; 
many  ye  may  have  to  spare.  I  saw  the  girl — she  confessed. 

Kyrle  Confessed  that  she  was  my  wife  ? 

Anne  Make  a  clean  breast  of  it  in  a  minute,  which  is  more  than  yoe 
xraid  do  with  a  sixteen-foot  wagon  and  a  team  of  ten,  in  a  week. 


COLLEEN  BAWN 


U 

Kyrle  Anne,  hear  me  ;  this  is  a  frightful  error-  the  girl  will  &o< 
repeat  it. 

Anne  Bring  her  before  me  and  let  her  speak. 

Kyrle  How  do  I  know  where  she  is  ? 

Anne  Well,  bring  your  boatman  then,  who  told  me  the  same. 

Kyrle  I  tell  you  it  is  false  ;  I  never  saw— never  knevr  the  girl. 

Anne  You  did  not?  [*SVio?rs  Eily’s  letter.]  Do  you  know  that? 
You  dropped  it,  and  I  found  it. 

Kyrle  [ Takes  letter.]  This  !  \ Reads. 

Enter  Hardress,  l. 

Anne  Hardress  !  [ Turns  aside. 

Kyrle  Oh  !  [Suddenly  struck  with  the  truth  ;  glances  towards  Anne  ;  find- 
til g  her  looking  away ,  places  letter  to  Hardress.]  Do  you  know  that  ? — 
you  dropped  it. 

Hard  [Com cals  letter .]  Eh?  Oh! 

Kyrle  ’Twas  he.  [ Looks  from  one  to  the  other]  She  thinks  me  guilty  ; 
but  if  I  stir  to  exculpate  myself,  he  is  in  for  it. 

Hard  You  look  distressed,  Kyrle.  Anne,  what  is  the  matter? 

Kyrle  Nothing,  Hardress.  I  was  about  to  ask  Miss  Chute  to  for 
get  a  subject  which  was  painful  to  her,  and  to  beg  of  her  never  to 
mention  it  again — not  even  to  you,  Hardress. 

Hard  I  am  sure  she  will  deny  you  nothing. 

Anne  I  will  forget,  sir.  [Aside.]  But  I  will  never  forgive  him— 
never. 

Kyrle  [Aside.]  She  loves  me  still,  and  he  loves  another,  and  I  am 
the  most  miserable  dog  that  ever  was  kicked.  [Crosses  to  l.]  Har¬ 
dress,  a  word  with  you.  [Exeunt  Kyrle  and  Hardress,  l. 

Annie  And  this  is  my  wedding  day.  There  goes  the  only  man  1 
ever  loved.  When  he’s  here  near  by  me,  I  could  give  him  the 
worst  treatment  a  man  could  desire,  and  when  he  goes  away  he 
takes  the  heart  and  all  of  me  off  with  him,  and  1  feel  like 
an  unfurnished  house.  This  is  pretty  feelings  for  a  girl  to  have,  and 
she  in  her  regimentals.  Oh!  if  he  wasn’t  married— but  he  is,  and 
he’d  have  married  me  as  well — the  malignant !  Oh  !  if  he  had,  how 
I’d  have  made  him  swing  for  it — it  would  have  afforded  me  the  hap 
piest  moment  of  my  life.  i  Exit  anne,  l.  Music. 

SCENE  III. — Exterior  of  Myles' s  Hut,  d oo"  /  v.  flat.  [2 nd  grooves.] 

Enter  Father  7jv., 

f  ather  T  Here’s  My le’s  shanty.  r’rj  pearly  killed  with  dim  bin  tue 
hill.  I  wonder  is  he  at  home  ?  Yes  the  <ioor  is  locked  inside.  [Knocks.] 
Myles — Myles,  are  ye  at  home  ? 

Myles  [Outside,  r  2  e.]  No — I  cat. 

Enter  Vs  c\s,  r.  2  b. 

Irrah  !  is  it  yourself,  Father  rrr,n,  that’s  in  it  ? 

Father  T  Let  us  go  inside,  /ivies — I’ve  a  word  to  say  t'ye. 

Myles  I — I’ve  lost  the  hr/ 

Father  T  Sure  it’s  stid.i  /  ‘aside. 

Myles  I  always  led',  ♦r.1  /are  inside  and  lave  it  there  when  I  go 
v  for  leer  on  lurin’  d. 

5W.W  /  s or. e  r.ero  to  me.  It.’s  lyin’  #r«.  Look  me  la 


34 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


fche  faoe  What’s  come  to  ye  these  tin  days  past — three  times  I*  vt 
been  to  your  door  and  it  was  locked,  but  I  heard  ye  stirrin'  inside. 

Myles  It  was  the  pig,  yer  riverince. 

Father  T  Myles,  why  did  yer  shoot  Danny  Mann  ? 

Myles  Oh,  murther,  who  tould  you  that  ? 

Father  T  Himself. 

Myles  Oh,  Father  Tom  !  have  ye  seen  him  ? 

Father  T  I've  just  left  him. 

Myles  Is  it  down  there  ye’ve  been  ? 

Father  T  Down  where  ? 

Myles  Below,  where  he’s  gone  to — where  would  he  be,  afihcr  mer 
thering  a  poor  crature  ? 

Father  T  How  d’ye  know  that? 

Myles  How  !  how  did  I  ? — whist,  Father  Tom,  it  was  his  ghost. 

Father  T  He  is  not  dead,  but  dyin’  fast,  from  the  wound  ye  gave  him 

Myles  1  never  knew  'twas  himself  ’till  1  wab  tould. 

Father  T  Who  tould  you  ? 

Myles  Is  it  who  ? 

Father  T  Who  ?  who? — not  Danny,  for  he  doesn't  know  who  killed 
him. 

Myles  Wait,  an’  I’ll  tell  you.  It  was  nigh  twelve  that  night,  I 
was  cornin’  home — I  know  the  time,  betoken  Murty  Dwyer  made  me 
step  in  his  shebeen,  bein’  the  wake  of  the  ould  Callaghan,  his  wife’s 
uncle — and  a  dacent  man  he  was.  “  Murty,”  sez  I — 

Father  T  Myles,  you’re  desavin’  me. 

Myles  Is  it  afther  desavin’  yer  riverence  I’d  be? 

Father  T  I  see  the  lie  in  yer  mouth.  W  ho  tould  ye  it  was  Danny 
Mann  ye  killed  ? 

Myles  You  said  so  a  while  ago. 

Father  T  Who  tould  ye  it  was  Danny  Mann  ? 

Myles  I’m  cornin’  to  it.  While  l  was  at  Murty 's,  yer  riverince,  as 
I  was  a-tellin’  you — Dan  Dayley  was  there— he  had  just  kim’d  in. 
“  Good  morrow,— good  day” — ses  he.  “  Good  morrow,  good  Dan, 
ses  I,” — jest  that  ways  entirely — “it’s  an  opening  to  the  heart  to 
see  you.”  Well,  yer  riverence,  as  I  ware  sayin’,  — “  long  life  an' 
good  wife  to  ye,  Masther  Dan,”  ses  I.  “  Thank  ye,  ses  he,  and  the 
likes  to  ye,  anyway.”  The  moment  I  speck  them  words,  Dan  got 
heart,  an’  up  an’  tould  Murty  about  his  love  for  Murty’ s  darter — 
the  Colleen  Hue.  The  moment  he  heard  that,  he  puts  elbows  in  him¬ 
self,  an’  stood  lookin’  at  him  out  on  theflure.  “  You  flog  Europe,  fcnr 
boldness,”  ses  he — “  get  out  of  my  sight,”  ses  lie, — “this  moment,” 
ses  he, — “  or  I’ll  give  yer  a  kick  that  will  rise  you  from  poverty  to 
the  highest  pitch  of  affluence,”  ses  he — “  away  out  ’o  that,  you  no¬ 
torious  delinquent ;  single  your  freedom,  and  double  your  distance,” 
ses  he.  Well.  Dan  was  forced  to  cut  an’  run.  Poor  boy  !  I  was  sorry 
for  his  trou  me  ,  th:rf  isn't  a  better  son  nor  brother  this  moment 
goin’  the  road  than  what  he  is — eC*:1 — card — there  was’nt  better, 
an’,  an’ — oh!  Father  Tom,  don’t  ax  mt,,  ’t'  foi  an  oath  on  mv 
lips.  [ Music.~\  Don’t  be  hard  on  a  poor  boy. 

Father  T  I  lift  the  oath  from  ye.  Tell  me,  avick,  oh  !  teh  me. 
Did  ye  search  for  the  poor  thing — the  darliii’  soft-eyed  Colleen ) 
Oh,  Myles  !  could  ye  lave  her  to  lie  in  the  cowld  lake  all  alone? 

Enter  Esly  from  door  e.  fiat. 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


U 


Myles  No,  I  couldn't. 

Father  T  [Turns — sees  Eily.]  Eily  !  Is  it  yourself,  and  atve—  an 
not — not— Oh  !  Eily,  mavourneen.  Come  to  my  heart. 

[. Embraces  EitY. 

Myles  [ Crosses  to  l.]  D’ye  think  ye’d  see  me  alive  if  she  wasn’t  ? 
I  thought  ye  knew  me  better — it’s  at  the  bottom  of  the  Pool  a  Dhiol 
I’d  be  this  minute  if  she  wasn’t  to  the  fore. 

Father  T  [c.]  Speak  to  me — let  me  hear  your  voice. 

Eily  Oh,  father,  father  !  won  t  ye  take  me  far,  far  away  from  this 
place  ? 

Father  T  Why  did  ye  hide  yourself  this  way? 

Eily  For  fear  he'd  see  me. 

Father  T  Hardress?  You  knew  then  that  he  instigated  Danny  to 
get  rid  of  ye  ? 

Eily  Why  didn’t  I  die — why  am  I  alive  now  for  him  to  hate  me? 

Father  T  D’ye  know  that  in  a  lew  hours  he  is  going  to  marry 
another  ? 

Eily  I  know  it.  Myles  tould  me  -that’s  why  I’m  hiding  myself 

Father  T  What  does  she  mean  ? 

Myles  [l.]  She  loves  him  still — that’s  what  she  manes. 

Father  T  Love  the  wretch  who  sought  your  life  ! 

Eily  Isn’t  it  his  own  ?  it  isn’t  his  fault  if  his  love  couldn’t  last  as 
long  as  mine.  I  was  a  poor,  mane  creature — not  up  to  him  any 
way;  but  if  he’d  only  said,  “Eily,  put  the  grave  between  us  and 
make  me  happy,’’  sure  I’d  lain  down,  wid  a  big  heart,  in  the  loch. 

Father  T  And  you  are  willing  to  pass  a  life  of  seclusion  that  he  may 
live  in  his  guilty  joy? 

Eily  If  I  was  alive  wouldn’t  I  be  a  shame  to  him  an’  a  ruin — ain’t 
I  in  his  way  ?  Heaven  help  me — why  would  I  trouble  him  ?  Oh  ! 
he  was  in  great  pain  o’  mind  entirely  when  he  let  them  put  a  hand 
on  me — the  poor  dartin’. 

Father  T  And  you  mean  to  let  him  believe  you  dead  ? 

Edy  Dead  an’  gone  :  then,  perhaps,  his  love  for  me  will  come  back, 
and  the  thought  of  his  poor,  foolish  little  Eily  that  worshiped  the 
ground  he  stood  on,  will  till  his  heart  a  while. 

Father  T  And  where  will  you  go  ? 

Eily  I  don’t  know.  Anywhere.  What  matters ? 

Myles  \Against  icing ,  l.]  Love  makes  all  places  alike. 

Eily  I  am  alowe  in  the  world  now. 

Father  T  The  villain — the  monster !  He  sent  her  to  heaven  be- 
aause  he  wanted  her  there  to  blot  out  with  her  tears  the  record  of  his 
iniquity.  Eily,  ye  have  but  one  home,  and  that’s  my  poor  house 
You  are  not  alone  in  the  world — there’s  one  beside  ye,  your  father, 
and  that’s  myself. 

Myles  Two — bad  luck  to  me,  two.  I  am  her  mother ;  sure  1 
brought  her  into  the  world  a  second  time. 

Father  T  [Looking,  r.]  Whisht !  look  down  there,  Myles— what’s 
that  on  the  road  ? 

Myles  [Crosses  r.~\  It’s  the  sogers — a  company  of  red-coats.  What 
brings  the  army  out? — who’s  that  wid  them  ? — it  is  ould  Corrigan, 
and  they  are  going  towards  Castle  Chute  there  s  mischief  in  the 

wind. 

Father  T  In  with  you,  an'  keep  close  a  while  ;  I’ll  go  down  to  the 
-aistle  and  see  what’s  the  matter  [Oro****  a 


86 


COLLEEN  BA  WN. 


Eily  Promise  me  that  you’ll  not  betray  me — that  none  but  your 
self  and  Myles  shall  ever  know  I’m  livin ;  promise  me  that  before 
you  go. 

Father  T  I  do,  Eily  ;  I’ll  never  breathe  a  word  of  it — it  is  as  sacred 
m  an  oath.  [Exit  l. — music. 

Eily  [Going  to  cottage.]  Shut  me  in,  Myles,  and  take  the  key  wid 
ye,  this  time.  [Exit  in  cottage ,  r.  c. 

Myles  [Locks  door.]  There  ye  are  like  a  pearl  in  an  oyster  ;  now 
['ll  go  to  my  bed  as  usual  on  the  mountain  above — the  bolster  is 
'tailed  wid  rocks,  and  I’ll  have  a  cloud  round  me  for  a  blanket. 

[Exit  Myles,  r.  2  b. 

SCENE  I V.  — Outside  of  Castle  Chute.  [Is?  grooves.] 

Enter  Corrigan  and  six  Soldiers,  r.  1  e. 

Corrig  Quietly,  boys ;  sthrew  yourselves  round  the  wood — some  of 
ve  at  the  gate  beyant — two  more  this  way — watch  the  windies  ;  if 
ne’ s  there  to  escape  at  all,  he’ll  jump  from  a  windy.  The  house  is 
surrounded. 

Quadrille  music  under  stage. — Air,  “  The  Boulanger.” 

Oh,  oh!  they’re  dancin’ — dancin'  and  merry  making,  while  the 
net  is  closin’  around  ’em.  Now  Masther  Hardress  (began — I  was 
kicked  out,  was  I  ;  but  I’ll  come  this  time  wid  a  call  that  ye'13 
answer  wid  your  head  instead  of  your  foot.  My  letters  were  returned 
unopened  ;  but  here’s  a  bit  of  writin’  that  ye’ll  not  be  able  to  hand 
back  so  easy. 

Enter  Corporal,  r. 

Corp  All  right,  sir. 

Corrig  Did  you  find  the  woman,  as  I  told  ye  ? 

Corp  Here  she  is,  sir. 

Enter  Sheelau,  guarded  hy  two  Soldiers,  r. 

Sheelah  [Crying.]  What’s  this?  Why  am  I  thrated  this  way — what 
have  I  done  ? 

Corrig  You  are  wanted  a  while— it’s  your  testimony  we  require* 
Bring  her  this  way.  Follow  me  !  [Exit,  l. 

Sheelah  [Struggling.]  Let  me  go  back  to  my  boy.  Ah  !  good  luck 
t’ye,  don’t  kape  me  from  my  poor  boy!  [Struggling.]  Oh!  you 
dirty  blackguards,  let  me  go— let  me  go  ! 

[Exit  Sheelah  and  Soldiers,  l. 

SCENE  V. — Ball  Room  in  Castle  Chute.  Steps,  c.  ;  platform — balustrade 
on  top.  backed  by  moonlight  landscape — doors  r.  and  l.  ;  table  L.  c. ;  writing 
materials ,  books. papers,  etc.,  on  it;  chairs;  chair  l.  2  e.,  chairs  r.  ;  chandeliers 
lighted.  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  Wedding  Guests  discovered,  Hyland 
Creagh,  Bertie  O’ Moore,  Ducia,  Kathleen  Creagii,  Ada  Creagh, 
Patsie  O’ Moore,  Bridesmaids  and  Servants  discovered. — Music  going 
on  under  stage. 

Hyland  Ducie,  they  are  dancing  the  Boulanger,  and  they  can’t  se* 
the  figure  unless  you  lend  them  the  light  of  your  eyes. 

Kathleen  We  have  danced  enough  *  it  is  nearly  seven  o’clocfc- 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


89 


Dude  Mr.  0’ Moore  ;  when  is  the  ceremony  to  commence 

O’  Moore  The  execution  is  fixed  for  seven — here’s  the  scaffold,  1 
presume.  [Faints  ti  table. 

Hyland  Hardress  looks  like  a  criminal.  I’ve  seen  1dm  fight  three 
duels,  and  he  never  showed  such  a  pale  face  as  he  exhibits  to-night. 

Dacia  He  looks  as  if  he  was  frightened  at  being  so  happy. 

Hyland  And  Kyrle  Daly  wears  as  gay  an  appearance. 

Enter  Kyrle  Daly  down  steps,  u. 

Dude  Hush  !  here  he  is. 

Kyrle  That  need  not  stop  your  speech,  Hyland.  I  don't  hide  my 
love  for  Anne  Chute,  and  it  is  my  pride,  and  no  fault  of  mine  if  she 
has  found  a  better  man. 

Hyland  He  is  not  a  better  man. 

Kyrle  He  is — she  thinks  so— what  she  says  becomes  the  truth 

Enter  Mrs.  Cregan,  l.  2  e. 

Mrs.  C  Who  says  the  days  of  chivalry  are  over  ?  Come,  gentlemen, 
the  bridesmaids  must  attend  the  bride..  The  guests  will  assemble  in 

the  hall. 

Enter  Servant,  r.  2  e.  ,  with  letter  and  card  on  salver. 

Sen  Mr.  Bertie  0’  Moore,  if  you  plase.  A  gentlemen  below  asked 
me  to  hand  you  this  card. 

O'  Moore  A  gentleman  !  what  can  he  want  ?  [Reads  card .]  Ah  !  in¬ 
deed  ;  this  is  a  serious  matter,  and  excuses  the  intrusion. 

Hyland  What’s  the  matter? 

O'  Moore  A  murder  has  been  committed. 

All  A  murder  ? 

O'  Moore  The  perpetrator  of  the  deed  has  been  discovered,  and  the 
warrant  for  his  arrest  requires  my  signature. 

Hyland  Hang  the  rascal.  [Goes  up  with  Ducib. 

O'  Moore  A  magistrate,  like  a  doctor,  is  called  on  at  all  hours. 

Mrs.C  We  can  excuse  you  for  such  a  duty,  Mr.  0’ Moore. 

O'  Moore  [Crossing,  r.]  This  is  the  result  of  some  brawl  at  a  fair,  1 
suppose.  Is  Mr.  Corrigan  below  ? 

Mrs.  C.  [Starting.]  Corrigan  ? 

O'  Moore  Show  me  to  him. 

[Exit  0’ Moore  and  Servant,  r.  2  e. — Guests  go  up  and  off,  l.  u.  k 

Mrs.  C  Corrigan  here  !  What  brings  that  man  to  this  house  ? 

[Exit  Mrs.  Cregan,  r.  3  e. 

Enter  Hardress,  down  steps,  c.  from  r  ,  pale. 

Hardress  [Sits,  l.]  It  is  in  vain — I  can  not  repress  the  terror  with 
which  I  approach  these  nuptials— yet,  what  have  I  to  fear?  Oh! 
my  heart  is  bursting  with  its  load  of  misery. 

Enter  Anne,  down  steps,  c.  from  r. 

Anne  Hardress  !  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 

Hard  [Rising,  l.  c  ]  I  will  tell  you— yes,  it  may  take  this  horrible 
oppression  from  inv  heart.  At  one  time  I  thought  you  knew  my  se* 
cret :  I  was  mistaken.  The  girl  you  saw  at  Muckrcss  Head — 

Anne  [r.  c.J  Eily  O’Conner  ? 

Hard  Was  my  wife  ! 

Anne  Your  wife? 

Hard  Hush!  Maddened  with  the  miseries  this  ac*  brought  upon  me, 
l  treated  her  with  cruelty — she  committed  S".icid*. 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


« 8 

Anne  Merciful  poweis ! 

Hard.  She  wrote  to  me  bidding  ine  farewell  forever,  and  the  ueit 
day  her  cloak  was  found  floating  in  the  lake.  [Anne  sinks  in  chair.] 
Since  then  I  have  neither  slept  nor  waked — I  have  but  one  thought, 
one  feeling ;  my  love  for  her,  v\ild  and  maddened,  has  come  back 
upon  my  heart  like  a  vengeance. 

[Music — tumult  heard ,  a. 

Anne  Heaven  defend  our  hearts,  what  is  that  ? 

[Enter  Mrs  Creqan  deadly  pale.  r.  3  e. — Locks  door  behind  her. 

Mrs.  C  Hardress !  my  child  ! 

Hard  Mother ! 

Anne  Mother,  he  is  here.  Look  on  him — speak  to  him- -do  not 
gasp  and  stare  on  your  son  in  that  horrid  way.  Oh,  mother  I  speaks 
or  vou  will  break  my  heart. 

Mrs.  C  Fly— fly  !  [Hardress  going ,  r.]  Not  that  way.  No — the 
doors  \re  defended  !  there  is  a  soldier  placed  at  every  entrance  !  You 
— are  trapped  and  caught — what  shall  we  do  ? — the  window  in  my 
chamber — come — come — quick — quick  1 

Anne  Of  what  is  he  accused  ? 

Hard  Of  murder.  I  see  it  in  her  face.  [Aroise,  a. 

Mrs.  C  Hush  1  they  come— begone  !  Your  boat  is  below  that  win¬ 
dow.  Don’t  speak  !  when  oceans  are  between  you  and  danger — 
write  !  Till  then  not  a  word.  [Forcing  him  off ,  r.  3  e.—  noise,  a. 

Anne  Accused  of  murder  !  He  is  innocent ! 

Mrs.  C  Go  to  your  room  !  Go  quickly  to  your  room,  you  will  betray 
him — you  can’t  command  your  features. 

Anne  Dear  mother,  I  will. 

Mrs.  C  Away,  I  say —  you  will  drive  me  frantic,  girl.  My  brain  is 
stretched  to  cracking.  Ha !  [Noise,  a. 

Anne  There  is  a  tumult  in  the  drawing-room. 

Mrs.  0  They  come!  You  tremble!  Go — takeaway  your  puny 
love  ;  hide  it  where  it  v»  ill  not  injure  him— leave  me  to  face  this  dan¬ 
ger  ! 

Anne  He  is  not  guilty. 

Mrs.  0  What’s  that  to  me,  woman?  I  am  his  mother— the  hunters 
are  after  my  blood  !  Sit  there— look  away  from  this  door.  They 
come ! 

[Knocking  loudly — crash — door  r.  3  e.  opened — enter  Corporal  and  Sol¬ 
diers,  who  cross  stage,  facing  up  to  charge — Gentlemen  with  drawn  swords 

on  steps,  c.  ;  Ladies  on  at  back — O’ Moore,  r.  3  e. — enter  Corrigan,  a. 

3  e. — Kyrle  on  steps,  c. 

Corrig  Gentlemen,  put  up  your  swords  ;  the  house  is  surrounded  by 
a  military  force,  and  we  are  here  in  the  king’s  name. 

Anne  [a.]  Gentlemen,  come  on,  there  was  a  time  in  Ireland  when 
neither  king  nor  faction  could  call  on  Castle  Chute  without  a  blood? 
welcome. 

Guests  Clear  the  n  out ! 

Kyrle  [Interposing. J  Anne,  are  you  mad?  Put  up  your  swords — 
stand  back  there — speak — O’ Moore,  what  does  this  strange  outrage 
mean  ? 

[Soldiers  faU  back -  Gentlemen  on  steps  :  Kyrle  comes  forward. 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


89 


(Y  Moore  Mrs.  Cregan,  a  fearful  charge  is  made  against  your  sou  ;  1 
know—l  believe  he  is  innocent  ;  I  suggest,  then,  that  the  matter  be 
investigated  here  at  once,  amongst  his  friends,  so  that  this  scandal 
may  be  crushed  in  its  birth. 

Kyrle  W  here  is  Hardress  ? 

Corrig  Where? — why,  he’s  escaping  while  we  are  jabbering  her®, 
Search  the  house.  [Exit  two  Soldiers,  r.  8  e. 

Mrs.  C  [l.]  Must  we  submit  to  this,  sir?  Will  vou,  a  magistrate 
permit — 

O'  Moore  I  regret  Mrs.  Cregan,  but  as  a  form¬ 
ers.  C  Go  on,  sir  ! 

Corrig  [A 1  door,  l.  3  E.j  What  room  is  this  ?  tie  locked 

Mrs.  C  That  is  my  sleeping  chamber. 

Corrig  My  duty  compels  me — 

Mrs.  C  [Throws  key  down  on  ground .]  Be  it  so,  sir. 

Corrig  [Tides  up  key — unlocks  door.  1  She  had  the  key — he  s  there. 

[Exit  Corporal  and  two  Soldiers. 

Mrs.  C  He  has  escaped  by  this  time. 

O' Moore  [At  l.  table.]  I  hope  Miss  Chute  will  pardon  me  for  my 
share  in  this  transaction — believe  me,  I  regret —  # 

Anne  Don’t  talk  to  me  of  your  regret,  while  you  are  doing  your 
worst.  It  is  hate,  not  justice,  that  brings  this  accusation  against 
Hardress,  and  this  disgrace  upon  me 


Kyrle  Anne!  .  ..  _  ,.  . 

Anne  Hold  your  tongue— his  life’s  in  danger,  and  if  I  can  t  love 
him,  I’ll  fight  for  him,  and  that’s  more  than  any  of  you  men  can  do^ 
[To  6’ Moore. ]  Go  on  with  your  dirty  work.  You  have  done  the  worst 
now — you  have  dismayed  our  guests,  scattered  terror  amid  our  fes¬ 
tival,  and  made  the  remembrance  of  this  night,  which  should  havp 
been  a  happy  one,  a  thought  of  gloom  and  shame. 

Mrs.  C  Hark  !  I  hear— I  hear  his  voice.  It  can  not  be. 


Re-enter  Corrigan,  l.  3  e. 


Corriq  The  prisoner  is  here  !  ,  , 

Mrs  C  [c.l  Ah,  [Utters  a  cry. ]  is  he  ?  Dark  bloodhound,  have  ye  j 
found  him  ?  May  the  tongue  that  tells  me  so  be  withered  from  the 
roots,  and  the  eye  that  first  detected  him  be  darkened  in  its  socket. 
Kyrle  Oh,  madam  !  for  heaven’s  sake  ! 

Anne  Mother!  mother  ! 

Mrs.  C  What !  shall  it  be  for  nothing  he  has  stung  the  mother  8 
heart,  and  set  her  brain  on  fire  ? 

Enter  Hardress,  handcuffed,  and  two  Soldiers,  l.  3  e 

1  tell  you  that  my  tongue  may  hold  its  peace,  but  there  is  not  a  vein 
in  all  my  frame  hut  curses  him.  [Turns— sees  Hardress  ;  falls  on  ha 

breast. ]  My  bov !  my  boy !  i 

Hard  [l.1  Mother,  I  entreat  you  to  be  calm.  [Crosses  to  c.J  Kyrlev 

there  are  my  hands,  do  you  think  there  is  blood  upon  them  ? 

[Kyrle  seizes  his  hand—  Gentlemen  press  round  him,  take  his  hand,  am 

retire  up.  ,  ,, 

Hard  I  you,  gentlemen  ;  your  hands  acquit  me.  Mother, 

to  calm-sit  th^  .  v  [Points  to  choir,  l. 

Anne  Come  here,  Bardrss?  *  "rm,r  rdace  ia  here  by  me. 

Hard  [r.  o.]  Now  «ir,  I  am  react*. 


<0 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


Corrig  [l.  of  tabled]  I  will  lay  before  yon,  sir,  the  deposition  upon 
which  the  warrant  issues  against  the  prisoner.  Here  is  the  confession 
of  Daniel  or  Danny  Mann,  a  person  in  the  service  of  the  aocnsed, 
taken  on  his  death-bed — in  articulo  mortis,  you’ll  observe. 

O’  Moore  But  not  witnessed. 

Coirig  [Calling. ]  Bring  in  that  woman. 

Enter  Sheelaii  and  two  Soldiers,  r.  3  e. 

I  hat  e  witnesses.  Your  worship  will  find  the  form  of  the  law  in  per* 
feet  shape. 

O'  Moore  Read  the  confession,  sir. 

Corrig  [Reads.']  “The  deponent  being  on  his  death-bed,  in  the  pres¬ 
ence  of  Sheelah  Mann  and  Thomas  O’Brien,  parish  priest  of  Kinmare, 
deposed  and  said’  ’ — 

Enter  Father  Tom,  r.  3 

Oh,  you  are  come  in  time,  sir. 

Father  T  I  hope  I  am. 

Corrig  We  may  have  to  call  your  evidence. 

Father  T  [c.]  I  have  brought  it  with  me. 

Corrig  “Deposed  and  said,  that  he,  deponent,  killed  Eily  O’Connor  ; 
that  said  Eilv  was  the  wife  of  HardressCregan,  and  stood  in  the  way 
of  his  marriage  with  Miss  Anne  Chute  ;  deponent  offered  to  put  away 
the  girl,  and  his  master  employed  him  to  do  so. 

O’  Moore  Sheelah,  did  Danny  confess  this  crime  ? 

Sheelah  [l.  c.]  Divilaword — it’s  a  lie  from  end  to  end;  that  ould 
thief  was  niver  in  my  cabin — he  invented  the  whole  of  it — sure  you’re 
the  divil’s  own  parverter  of  the  truth. 

Corrig  Am  I?  Oh,  oh  !  Father  Tom  will  scarcely  say  as  much?  [To 
iim.]  Did  Danny  Mann  confess  this  in  your  presence  ? 

Father  T  I  decline  to  answer  that  question  ! 

Corrig  Aha  !  you  must — the  law  will  compel  you  ! 

Father  T  I’d  like  to  see  the  law  that  can  unseal  the  lips  of  the  priest, 
And  make  him  reveal  the  secrets  of  heaven. 

Anne  So  much  for  your  two  witnesses.  Ladies,  stand  close.  Gentle¬ 
men,  give  us  room  here. 

[Bridesmaids  down ,  r.  Exit  Father  Tom,  r.  3  e. 

Corrig  We  have  abundant  proot,  your  worship — enough  to  hang  a 
whole  country.  Danny  isn’t  dead  yet.  •  Deponent  agreed  with  Cre- 
gun  that  if  the  deed  was  to  be  done,  that  he,  Cregan,  should  give  hia 
glove  as  a  token. 

Mrs.  C  Ah  1 

Hard  Hold !  I  confess  that  what  he  has  read  is  true.  Danny  did 
make  the  offer,  and  I  repelled  nis  horrible  proposition. 

Corrig  Aha  !  but  you  gave  him  the  glove. 

Hard  Never,  by  my  immortal  soul — never  ! 

Mrs.  C  [Advancing. J  Belt  I — I  did  !  [Movement  of  surprise.]  1  youi 
wretched  mother — I  gave  it  to  him— I  am  guilty  !  thank  heaven  for 
that !  remove  those  bonds  from  his  hands  and  put  them  here  on  mine. 

Hard  Tis  false,  mother,  you  did  not  know  his  purpose— you  could 
not  know  it.  Corporal  lakes  off  handcuffs. 

Mrs.  C  I  will  not  say  anytliing  that  takes  the  welcome  cruilt  from 


COLLEEN  BAWN. 


I 


Enter  Myles  from  stqps,  c.  from  ft. 

Myles  Won’t  ye,  ma’am?  Well,  if  ye  won’t,  I  will. 

All  Myles ! 

Myles  Save  al/  here.  Ifyouplaze,  I’d  like  to  say  a  word;  thanj’i 
been  a  murder  done,  and  I  done  it. 

All  Yon ! 

Myles  Myself.  Danny  was  killed  by  my  hand.  [To  Cornua  ]  Were 
y  ez  any  way  nigh  that  time  ? 

Cor  rig  [Quickly.]  No. 

Myles  [Quickly.]  That’s  lucky  ;  then  takedown  what  I’m  sayin’. 
shot  the  poor  boy — but  widout  manin’  to  hurt  him.  It’s  luck}  I 
killed  him  that  time,  for  it’s  lifted  a  mighty  sin  off  the  sowl  of  tine 
crature. 

O'  Moore  What  does  he  mean  ? 

Myles  I  mane,  that  if  you  found  one  witness  to  Eily  O’Connor’s 
death,  I  found  another  that  knows  a  little  more  about  it,  and  here 
she  is. 


Erdcr  Eily  and  Father  Tom  down  steps,  o.  from  a. 

All  Eily! 

Myles  The  Colleen  Bawn  herself ! 

Edy  Hardress !  ) 

Hard  My  wife — my  own  Eily.  \ 

Eily  Here,  darlin’,  take  the  paper,  and  tear  it  if  you  like. 

[Offers  him  the  certificate. 

Hard  Eily,  I  could  not  live  without  you. 

Mrs.  C  If  ever  he  blamed  you,  it  was  my  foolish  pride  spoke  in  his 
hard  words — he  loves  you  with  all  his  heart.  Forgive  me,  Eily. 

Eily  Forgive ! 

Mrs.  0  Forgive  your  mother,  Eily. 

Eily  [Embracing  her.]  Mother  ! 

[Mrs.  Cregan,  IIardress,  Eily,  Fathfr  Tom,  group  together — Anne, 
Kyrle,  and  Gentlemen — Ladies  together— their  hacks  to  Corrigan — 
Corrigan  takes  bag ,  puts  in  papers,  looks  about,  puts  on  hat,  buttons  coal, 
slinks  up  stage,  runs  up  stairs,  and  off  r. — Myles  points  off  after  him — 
several  Gentlemen  run  after  Corrigan. 

Anne  But  what’s  to  become  of  me  ?  is  all  my  emotion  to  be  sum* 
Burned  for  nothing  ?  Is  my  wedding  dress  to  go  to  waste,  and  here’s 
fcJ  my  blushes  ready?  I  must  have  a  husband. 

Hyland  and  Gentlemen  Take  me. 

O'  Moore  Take  me. 

Anne  Don’t  all  speak  at  once  !  Where’s  Mr.  Daly  ? 

Kyrle  [r.]  Here  I  am.  Anne  ! 

Anne  [r.  c.]  Kyrle,  come  here  1  You  said  you  loved  me,  and  1 
fltink  you  do 
Kyrle  Oh ! 

Anne  Behave  yourself  now.  If  you’ll  ask  me,  I’ll  have  you 
Kyrle  [Embracing  Anne.]  Anne!  [Shows  outside,  L.  u.  ft 

All  What’s  that? 

Myls.s  [Looking  off  out  at  hack.]  Don’t  be  uneasy  !  it’s  only  the  boyi 
outside  that’s  caught  ould  Coi'-igan  thryin’  to  get  off,  and  they’ve 
got  him  in  the  horse-pond. 

Kyrle  They’ll  drown  him. 


42 


COLLEEN  BAWN 


Myles  Niver  fear,  he  wasn’t  born  to  be  drowned — he  won’t  emit— 
he’ll  rise  out  of  the  world,  and  divil  a  fut  nearer  heaven  he’ll  git 
than  the  top  o’  the  callows. 

Eily  [To  Hard.]  And  ye  won’t  be  ashamed  of  me? 

Anne  I’ll  be  ashamed  of  him  if  he  does. 

Eily  And  when  I  spake — no — speak — 

Anne  Spake  is  the  right  sound.  Kyrle  Daly,  pronounce  that  word. 

Eyrie  That’s  right ;  if  you  ever  spake  it  any  other  way  I'll  divosoi 
jrs — mind  that. 

Father  T  Eily,  darlin’,  in  the  middle  of  your  joy,  sure  you  would 
aot  forget  one  who  never  forsook  you  in  your  sorrow. 

Eily  Oh,  Father  Tom  ! 

Father  T  Oh,  it’s  not  myself  I  mane. 

Anne  No,  it’s  that  marauder  there,  that  lent  me  his  topcoat  in  the 
thunder  storm.  [ Pointing  to  Myles. 

Myles  Bedad,  ma’am,  your  beauty  left  a  linin’  in  it  that  has  kept 
me  warm  ever  since. 

Eily  Myles,  you  saved  my  life — it  belongs  to  you.  There’s  my 
hand — what  will  you  do  with  it? 

Myles  [ Takes  her  hand  and  IIardress’s.]  Take  her,  wid  ail  my  heart 
I  may  say  that,  for  ye  can’t  take  her  without.  I  am  like  the  boy 
who  had  a  penny  to  put  in  the  poor-box— I’d  rather  keep  it  for  my¬ 
self.  It’s  a  shamrock  itself  ye  have  got,  sir  ;  and  like  that  flower 
she’ll  come  up  every  year  fresh  and  green  foreninst  ye.  When  ye  cease 
to  love  her  may  dyin’  become  ye,  and  when  ye  do  die,  lave  yer  money 
to  the  poor,  your  widdy  to  me,  and  we’ll  both  forgive  ye. 

[ Joins  hands. 

Eily  I'm  only  a  poor  simple  girl,  and  it’s  frightened  I  am  to  be 
surrounded  by  so  many — 

Anne  Friends,  Eily,  friends. 

Eily  Oh,  if  I  could  think  so — if  T  could  hope  the-t  I  had  established 
myself  in  a  little  corner  of  their  hearts,  there  wouldn't  be  a  happier 
girl  alive  than  The  Colleen  Bawn. 

Soldiers.  Soldiers. 

Guests.  Guests. 

Hyland. 

O’ Moore.  Sukelah. 

&RSJ*.  Myles  Hakdress  Eily.  Father  Tom.  Mbs.  C&asAg 

BL  L. 


HE  JEKD. 


KICK  IN 

Play  in  4  acta.  By  Willard  Mack.  7  males,  5  females, 
3  interiors.  Modern  costumes.  Plays  2  y2  hours. 

“Kick  In”  is  the  latest  of  the  very  few  available  mystery 
plays.  Like  “Within  the  Law,”  “Seven  Keys  to  Baldpate,” 
“The  Thirteenth  Chair,”  and  “In  the  Next  Room,”  it  is  one 
of  those  thrillers  which  are  accurately  described  as  “not  having 
a  dull  moment  in  it  from  beginning  to  end.”  It  is  a  play  with 
all  the  ingredients  of  popularity,  not  at  all  difficult  to  set  or  to 
act;  the  plot  carries  it  along,  and  the  situations  are  built  with 
that  skill  and  knowledge  of  the  theatre  for  which  Willard  Mack 
is  known.  An  ideal  mystery  melodrama,  for  high  schools  and 
colleges.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents, 

TILLY  OF  BLOOMSBURY 

(''Happy-Go-Lucky. ,J)  A  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Ian 
Hay.  9  males,  7  females.  2  interior  scenes.  Modern 
dress.  Plays  a  full  evening. 

Into  an  aristocratic  family  comes  Tilly,  lovable  and  youthful, 
with  ideas  and  manners  which  greatly  upset  the  circle.  Tilly 
is  so  frankly  honest  that  she  makes  no  secret  of  her  tre¬ 
mendous  affection  for  the  young  son  of  the  family;  this  brings  her 
into  many  difficulties.  But  her  troubles  have  a  joyous  end  in 
charmingly  blended  scenes  of  sentiment  and  humor.  This  comedy 
presents  an  opportunity  for  fine  acting,  handsome  stage  settings, 
and  beautiful  costuming.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.) 

Price,  75  Cents', 


BILLY 

Farce-comedy  in  3  acts.  By  George  Cameron.  10  males, 
5  females.  (A  few  minor  male  parts  can  be  doubled,  mak¬ 
ing  the  cast  7  males,  5  females.)  1  exterior.  Costumes, 
modern.  Plays  2%  hours. 

The  action  of  the  play  takes  place  on  the  S.  S.  “Florida, ** 
bound  for  Havana.  The  story  has  to  do  with  the  disappearance  of 
a  set  of  false  teeth,  which  creates  endles?  complications  among 
passengers  and  crew,  and  furnishes  two  and  a  quarter  hours  of 
the  heartiest  laughter.  One  of  the  funniest  comedies  produced  in 
the  last  dozen  years  on  the  American  stage  is  “Billy”  (some¬ 
times  called  “Billy’s  Tombstones”),  in  which  the  late  Sidney 
Drew  achieved  a  hit  in  New  York  and  later  toured  the  country 
several  times.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents, 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 
Our  New  Catalogue  Will  Be  Sent  on  Receipt  of  Cent* 


DADDY  LONG-LEGS 

A  charming  comedy  in  4  acts.  By  Jean  Webster.  Th<fl 
full  cast  calls  for  6  males,  7  females  and  6  orphans,  but 
the  play,  by  the  easy  doubling  of  some  of  the  characters, 
may  be  played  by  4  males,  4  females  and  3  orphans. 
The  orphans  appear  only  in  the  first  act  and  may  be  played 
by  small  girls  of  any  age.  Four  easy  interior  scenes. 
Costumes  modern.  Plays  2^4  hours. 

Many  readers  of  current  fiction  will  recall  Jean  Webster’s 
“Daddy  Long-Legs.”  Miss  Webster  dramatized  her  story  and  it 
was  presented  at  the  Gaiety  Theatre  in  New  York,  under  Henry 
Miller’s  direction,  with  Ruth  Chatterton  in  the  principal  role. 
“Daddy  Long-Legs”  tells  the  story  of  Judy,  a  pretty  little 
drudge  in  a  bleak  New  England  orphanage.  One  day,  a  visiting 
trustee  becomes  interested  in  Judy  and  decides  to  give  her  a 
chance.  She  does  not  know  the  name  of  her  benefactor,  but 
simply  calls  him  Daddy  Long-Legs,  and  writes  him  letters  brim¬ 
ming  over  with  fun  and  affection.  From  the  Foundling’s  Home 
she  goes  to  a  fashionable  college  for  girls  and  there  develops  the 
romance  that  constitutes  much  of  the  play’s  charm.  The  New 
York  Times  reviewer,  on  the  morning  after  the  Broadway  pro¬ 
duction,  wrote  the  following:  ‘‘If  you  will  take  your  pencil  and 
write  down,  one  below  the  other,  the  words  delightful,  charming, 
sweet,  beautiful  and  entertaining,  and  then  draw  a  line  and  add 
them  up,  the  answer  will  be  ‘Daddy  Long-Legs.’  To  that  result 
you  might  even  add  brilliant,  pathetic  and  humorous,  but  the 
answer  even  then  would  be  just  what  it  was  before — the  play 
which  Miss  Jean  Webster  has  made  from  her  book,  ‘Daddy  Long- 
Legs,’  and  which  was  presented  at  the  Gaiety  last  night.  To 
attempt  to  describe  the  simplicity  and  beauty  of  ‘Daddy  Long- 
Legs’  would  be  like  attempting  to  describe  the  first  breath  of 
Spring  after  an  exceedingly  tiresome  and  hard  Winter.”  ‘‘Daddy 
Long-Legs”  enjoyed  a  two-years’  run  in  New  York,  and  was  then, 
toured  for  over  three  years.  It  is  now  published  in  play  form  for 
the  first  time.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 

THE  FAMOUS  MRS.  FAIR 

A  comedy  in  4  acts.  By  James  Forbes.  3  males,  10 
females.  2  interiors.  Modern  costumes.  Plays  a  full 
evening. 

An  absorbing  play  of  modern  American  family  life.  ‘‘The 
Famous  Mrs.  Fair”  is  concerned  with  a  strenuous  lady  who 
returns  from  overseas  to  lecture,  and  consequently  neglects  her 
daughter,  who  is  just  saved  in  time  from  disaster.  Acted  with 
great  success  by  Blanche  Bates  and  Henry  Miller.  (Royalty, 
twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 
Our  New  Catalogup  Will  Be  Sent  on  Receipt  of  Five  Cents 


TWEEDLES 

Comedy  in  3  acts,  by  Booth  Tarkington  and  Harry  Leon 
Wilson.  5  males,  4  females.  1  interior.  Costumes,  modern* 
Plays  2*4  hours. 

Julian,  scion  of  the  blue-blooded  Castleburys,  falls  in  love  witfi 
Winsora  Tweedle,  daughter  of  the  oldest  family  in  a  Maine  village. 
The  Tweedles  esteem  the  name  because  it  has  been  rooted  in 
the  community  for  200  years,  and  they  look  down  on  “summer 
people”  with  the  vigor  that  only  “summer  boarder”  communities 
know. 

The  Castleburys  are  aghast  at  the  possibility  of  a  match,  and. 
call  on  the  Tweedles  to  urge  how  impossible  such  an  alliance  would, 
be.  Mr.  Castlebury  laboriously  explains  the  barrier  of  social 
caste,  and  the  elder  Tweedle  takes  it  that  these  unimportant 
cummer  folk  are  terrified  at  the  social  eminence  of  the  Tweedles. 

Tweedle  generously  agrees  to  co-operate  with  the  Castleburys 
to  prevent  the  match.  But  Winsora  brings  her  fathev  to  realize 
that  in  reality  the  Castleburys  look  upon  them  as  inferiors.  The 
Did  man  is  infuriated,  and  threatens  vengeance,  but  is  checkmated 
when  Julian  unearths  a  number  of  family  skeletons  and  argues 
that  father  isn’t  a  Tweedle,  since  the  blood  has  been  so  diluted 
that  little  remains.  Also,  Winsora  takes  the  matter  into  her  own 
hands  and  outfaces  the  old  man.  So  the  youngsters  go  forth 
triumphant.  “Tweedles”  is  Booth  Tarkington  at  ,his,  best. 
(Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents, 


JUST  SUPPOSE 

A  whimsical  comedy  in  3  acts,  by  A.  E.  Thomas,  author 
of  “Her  Husband’s  Wife,”  “Come  Out  of  the  Kitchen,” 
etc.  6  males,  2  females.  1  interior,  1  exterior.  Costumes, 
modern.  Plays  2*4  hours. 

It  was  rumored  that  during  his  last  visit  the  Prince  of  Wales 
appeared  for  a  brief  spell  under  an  assumed  name  somewhere  in 
"Virginia.  It  is  on  this  story  that  A.  E.  Thomas  based  “Just 
Suppose.”  The  theme  is  handled  in  an  original  manner.  Linda 
Lee  Stafford  meets  one  George  Shipley  (in  reality  is  the  Prince 
of  Wales).  It  is  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight,  but,  alas,  princes 
cannot  select  their  mates  and  thereby  hangs  a  tale  which  Mr. 
Thomas  has  woven  with  infinite  charm.  The  atmosphere  of  the 
South  with  its  chivalry  dominates  the  story,  touching  in  its 
Ftntiment  and  lightened  here  and  there  with  delightful  comedy. 
“Just  Suppose”  scored  a  big  hit  at  the  Henry  Miller  Theatre, 
New  York,  with  Patricia  Collinge.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.) 

Price,  75  Cents. 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 
Our  New  Catalogue  Will  Be  Sent  on  Receipt  of  Five  Cents 


ON  THE  HIRING  LINE 

Comedy  in  3  acts,  by  Harvey  O  ’Higgins  and  Harriet 
Ford.  5  males,  4  females.  Interior  throughout.  Costumes, 
modern.  Plays  2  hours. 

Sherman  Fessenden,  unable  to  induce  servants  to  remain  for 
any  reasonable  length  of  time  at  his  home,  hits  upon  the  novel 
expedient  of  engaging  detectives  to  serve  as  domestics. 

His  second  wife,  an  actress,  weary  of  the  country  and  longing 
for  Broadway,  has  succeeded  in  discouraging  every  other  cook  and 
butler  against  remaining  long  at  the  house,  believing  that  by  so 
doing  she  will  win  her  hushand  to  her  theory  that  country  life 
is  dead.  So  she  is  deeply  disappointed  when  she  finds  she  cannot 
discourage  the  new  servants. 

The  sleuths,  believing  they  had  been  called  to  report  on  the 
actions  of  those  living  with  the  Fessendens,  proceeded  to  warn 
Mr.  Fessenden  that  his  wife  has  been  receiving  love-notes  from 
Steve  Mark,  an  actor  friend,  and  that  his  daughter  has  been 
planning  to  elope  with  a  thief. 

One  sleuth  causes  an  uproar  in  the  house,  making  a  mess  of 
the  situations  he  has  witnessed.  Mr.  Fessenden,  however,  has 
learned  a  lesson  and  is  quite  willing  to  leave  the  servant  problem 
to  his  wife  thereafter.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.) 

Price,  75  Cents. 


A  FULL  HOUSE 

A  farcical  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Fred  Jackson.  7  males,, 
7  females.  One  interior  scene.  Modern  costumes.  Time, 
2Y2  hours. 

Imagine  a  reckless  and  wealthy  youth  who  writes  ardent 
love  letters  to  a  designing  chorus  girl,  an  attorney  brother- 
in-law  who  steals  the  letters  and  then  gets  his  hand-bag  mixed 
lip  with  the  grip  of  a  burglar  who  has  just  stolen  a  valuable 
necklace  from  the  mother  of  the  indiscreet  youth,  and  the 
efforts  of  the  crook  to  recover  his  plunder,  as  incidents  in 
the  story  of  a  play  in  which  the  swiftness  of  the  action 
never  halts  for  an  instant.  Not  only  are  the  situations  scream¬ 
ingly  funny  but  the  lines  themselves  hold  a  fund  of  humor  at 
all  times.  This  newest  and  cleverest  of  all  farces  wras  written 
by  Fred  Jackson,  the  well-known  short-story  writer,  and 
backed  up  by  the  prestige  of  an  impressive  New  York  success 
and  the  promise  of  unlimited  fun  presented  in  the  most  attrac¬ 
tive  form.  A  cleaner,  cleverer  farce  has  not  been  seen  for  many 
a  long  day.  “A  Full  House”  is  a  house  full  of  laughs.  (Royalty, 
twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 
Out  New  Catalogue  Will  be  Sent  on  Receipt  of  Five  Ce;m» 


POLLYANNA 

“The  glad  play, ”  in  3  acts.  By  Catherine  Chisholm 
Cushing.  Based  on  the  novel  by  Eleanor  H.  Porter.  5 
males,  6  females.  2  interiors.  ,  Costumes,  modern.  Plays 
2%  hours.  ■* 

The  story  has  to  do  with  the  experiences  of  an  orphan  girl 
who  is  thrust,  unwelcome,  into  the  home  of  a  maiden  aunt.  In 
spite  of  the  tribulations  that  beset  her  life  she  manages  to  find 
something  to  be  glad  about,  and  brings  light  into  sunless  lives. 
Finally,  Pollyanna  straightens  out  the  love  affairs  of  her  elders, 
and  last,  but  not  least,  finds  happiness  for  herself  in  the  heart 
of  Jimmy.  "Pollyanna”  is  a  glad  play  and  one  which  is  bound 
to  give  one  a  better  appreciation  of  people  and  the  world.  It 
reflects  the  humor,  tenderness  and  humanity  that  gave  the  story 
such  wonderful  popularity  among  young  and  old. 

Produced  at  the  Pludson  Theatre,  New  York,  and  for  two  sea¬ 
sons  on  tour,  by  George  C.  Tyler,  with  Helen  Hayes  in  the  part 
of  "Pollyanna.”  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 


THE  CHARM  SCHOOL 

A  comedy  in  3  acts.  By  Alice  Duer  Miller  and  Robert 
Milton.  6  males,  10  females  (may  be  played  by  5  males 
and  8  females).  Any  number  of  school  girls  may  be  used 
in  the  ensembles.  Scenes,  2  interiors.  Modern  costumes. 
Plays  2%  hours. 

The  story  of  "The  Charm  School”  is  familiar  to  Mrs.  Miller’s 
readers.  It  relates  the  adventures  of  a  handsome  young  auto* 
mobile  salesman,  scarcely  out  of  his  ’teens,  who,  upon  inheriting 
a  girls’  boarding-school  from  a  maiden  aunt,  insists  on  running  it 
himself,  according  to  his  own  ideas,  chief  of  which  is,  by  the 
way,  that  the  dominant  feature  in  the  education  of  the  young 
girls  of  to-day  should  be  CHARM.  The  situations  that  arise  are 
teeming  with  humor — clean,  wholesome  humor.  In  the  end  the 
young  man  gives  up  the  school,  and  promises  to  wait  until  the 
most  precocious  of  his  pupils  reaches  a  marriageable  age.  The 
play  has  the  freshness  of  youth,  the  inspiration  of  an  extravagant 
but  novel  idea,  the  charm  of  originality,  and  the  premise  of  whole¬ 
some,  sanely  amusing,  pleasant  entertainment.  We  strongly  rec¬ 
ommend  it  for  high  school  production.  It  was  first  produced  at 
the  Bijou  Theatre,  New  York,  then  toured  the  country.  Two 
companies  are  now  playing  it  in  England.  (Royalty,  twenty-five 
dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 
Our  New  Catalogue  Will  Be  Sent  on  Receipt  of  Five  Cents 


NOT  SO  LONG  AGO 

Comedy  in  a  Prologue,  3  acts,  and  Epilogue.  By  Arttmi 
Eichman.  5  males,  7  females.  2  interiors,  1  exterior, 
Costumes,  1876.  Plays  a  full  evening. 

Arthur  Richman  has  constructed  his  play  around  the  Cinderella 
legend.  The  playwright  has  shown  great  wisdom  in  his  choice 
of  material,  for  he  has  cleverly  crossed  the  Cinderella  theme 
with  a  strain  of  Romeo  and  Juliet.  Mr.  Richman  places  hia 
young  lovers  in  the  picturesque  New  York  of  forty  years  ago. 
This  time  Cinderella  is  a  seamstress  in  the  home  of  a  social 
climber,  who  may  have  been  the  first  of  her  kind,  though  we 
doubt  it.  She  is  interested  sentimentally  in  the  son  of  this  house. 
Her  father,  learning  of  her  infatuation  for  the  young  man  without 
learning  also  that  it  is  imaginary  on  the  young  girl’s  part,  starts 
out  to  discover  his  intentions.  He  is  a  poor  inventor.  The 
mother  of  the  youth,  ambitious  chiefly  for  her  children,  shud* 
ders  at  the  thought  of  marriage  for  her  son  with  a  sewing-girl. 
But  the  Prince  contrives  to  put  the  slipper  on  the  right  foot,  and 
the  end  is  happiness.  The  play  is  quaint  and  agreeable  and  the 
three  acts  are  rich  in  the  charm  of  love  and  youth.  (Royalty, 
twenty*five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents, 


THE  LOTTERY  MAN 

Comedy  in  3  acts,  by  Eida  Johnson  Young.  4  males, 
5  females.  3  easy  interiors.  Costumes,  modern.  Plays 
214  hours. 

In  “The  Lottery  Man”  Rida  Johnson  Young  has  seized  upon 
a  custom  of  some  newspapers  to  increase  their  circulation  by 
clever  schemes.  Mrs.  Young  has  made  the  central  figure  in  hef 
famous  comedy  a  newspaper  reporter,  Jack  Wright.  Wright  owes 
his  employer  money,  and  he  agrees  to  turn  in  one  of  the  most 
sensational  scoops  the  paper  has  euer  known.  His  idea  is  to 
conduct  a  lottery,  with  himself  as  the  prize.  The  lottery  is  an¬ 
nounced.  Thousands  of  old  maids  buy  coupons.  Meantime  Wright 
falls  in  love  with  a  charming  girl.  Naturally  he  fears  that  ho 
may  be  won  by  someone  else  and  starts  to  get  as  many  tickets 
as  his  limited  means  will  permit.  Finally  the  last  day  is  an* 
nounced.  The  winning  number  is  1323,  and  is  held  by  Lizzie, 
an  old  maid,  in  the  household  of  the  newspaper  owner.  Lizzio 
refuses  to  give  up.  It  is  discovered,  however,  that  she  has  stolen 
the  ticket.  With  this  clue,  the  reporter  threatens  her  with  arrest. 
Of  course  the  coupon  is  surrendered  and  Wright  gets  the  girl  of 
his  choice.  Produced  at  the  Bijou  Theater,  New  York,  with 
great  success.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 
Our  New  Catalogue  Will  Be  Sent  on  Receint  of  Five  Cents 


NOTHING  BUT  THE  TRUTH 

Comedy  in  3  acts.  By  James  Montgomery.  5  males, 
6  females.  Modern  costumes.  2  interiors.  Plays  2x/-2  hours. 

Is  it  possible  to  tell  the  absolute  truth — even  for  twenty-four 
hours?  It  is — at  least  Bob  Bennett,  the  hero  of  “Nothing  but 
the  Truth,”  accomplished  the  feat.  The  bet  he  made  with  his 
partners,  his  friends,  and  his  fiancee — these  are  the  incidents  in 
William  Collier’s  tremendous  comedy  hit.  “Nothing  but  the 
Truth”  can  be  whole-heartedly  recommended  as  one  of  the  most 
sprightly,  amusing  and  popular  comedies  of  which  this  country 
can  boast.  (Royalty,  twenty-five  dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 

SEVENTEEN 

A  comedy  of  youth,  in  4  acts.  By  Booth  Tarkington. 
8  males,  6  females.  1  exterior,  2  interior  scenes.  Costumes, 
modern.  Plays  2%  hours. 

It  is  the  tragedy  of  William  Sylvanus  Baxter  that  he  has  ceased 
to  be  sixteen  and  is  not  yet  eighteen.  Baby,  child,  boy,  youth 
and  grown-up  are  definite  phenomena.  The  world  knows  them  and 
has  learned  to  put  up  with  them.  Seventeen  is  not  an  age,  it  is  a 
disease.  In  its  turbulent  bosom  the  leavings  of  a  boy  are  at  war 
with  the  beginnings  of  a  man. 

In  his  heart,  William  Sylvanus  Baxter  knows  all  the  tortures 
and  delights  of  love;  he  is  capable  of  any  of  the  heroisms  of  his 
heroic  sex.  But  he  is  still  sent  on  the  most  humiliating  errands 
by  his  mother,  and  depends  upon  his  father  for  the  last  nickel 
of  spending  money. 

Silly  Bill  fell  in  love  with  Lolo,  the  Baby- Talk  Lady,  a  vapid. 
If  amiable  little  flirt.  To  woo  her  in  a  manner  worthy  of  himself 
(and  incidentally  of  her)  he  stole  his  lather’s  evening  clothes. 
When  his  wooings  became  a  nuisance  to  the  neighborhood,  his 
mother  stole  the  clothes  back,  and  had  them  altered  to  fit  the 
middle-aged  form  of  her  husband,  thereby  keeping  William  at 
home  in  the  evening. 

But  when  it  came  to  the  Baby-Talk  Lady’s  good-bye  dance,  not 
to  be  present  was  unendurable.  How  William  Sylvanus  again 
got  the  dress  suit,  and  how  as  he  was  wearing  it  at  the  party  the 
negro  servant,  Genesis,  disclosed  the  fact  that  the  proud  garment 
was  in  reality  his  father’s,  are  some  of  the  elements  in  this 
charming  comedy  of  youth. 

“Seventeen”  is  a  story  of  youth,  love  and  summer  time.  It  is 
a  work  of  exquisite  human  sympathy  and  delicious  humor.  Pro¬ 
duced  by  Stuart  Walker  at  the  Booth  Theatre,  New  York,  it  en¬ 
joyed  a  run  of  four  years  in  New  York  and  on  the  road.  Strongly 
recommended  for  High  School  production.  (Royalty,  twenty-five 
dollars.)  Price,  75  Cents. 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 
Our  New  Catalogue  Will  Be  Sent  on  Receipt  of  Five  Cents 


COME  OUT  OF  THE  KITCHEN 


A  charming  comedy  in  3  acts.  Adapted  by  A.  E.  Thomas 
from  the  story  of  the  same  name  by  Alice  Duer  Miller. 
6  males,  5  females.  3  interior  scenes.  Costumes,  modern. 

Plays  21/2  hours. 

The  story  of  “Come  Out  of  the  Kitchen”  is  written  around  a 
Virginia  family  of  the  old  aristocracy,  by  the  name  of  Dainger- 
field,  who,  finding  themselves  temporarily  embarrassed,  decide  to 
rent  their  magnificent  home  to  a  rich  Yankee.  One  of  the  con* 
ditions  of  the  lease  by  the  well-to-do  New  Englander  stipulates 
that  a  competent  staff  of  white  servants  should  be  engaged  for 
his  sojourn  at  the  stately  home.  This  servant  question  presents 
practically  insurmountable  difficulties,  and  one  of  the  daughters 
of  the  family  conceives  the  mad-cap  idea  that  she,  her  sister  and 
their  two  brothers  shall  act  as  the  domestic  staff  for  the  wealthy 
Yankee.  Olivia  Daingerfield,  who  is  the  ringleader  in  the  merry 
scheme,  adopts  the  cognomen  of  Jane  Allen,  and  elects  to  preside 
over  the  destinies  of  the  kitchen.  Her  sister  Elizabeth,  is  ap¬ 
pointed  housemaid.  Her  elder  brother,  Paul,  is  the  butler,  and 
Charley,  the  youngest  of  the  group,  is  appointed  to  the  position  of 
bootboy.  When  Burton  Crane  arrives  from  the  North,  accom¬ 
panied  by  Mrs.  Faulkner,  her  daughter,  and  Crane’s  attorney, 
#  v  t,1"’  staff  of  servants  to  possess  so  many  methods 

of  behavior  out  of  the  ordinary  that  amusing  complications  begin 
o  arise  immediately.  Olivia’s  charm  and  beauty  impress  Crane 
above  everything  else,  and  the  merry  story  continues  through  a 
maze  of  delightful  incidents  until  tho  real  identity  of  the  heroine 
is  finally  disclosed.  But  not  until  Crntio 


It  was  abo  a  great  success  at  the  Strand 
A  most  ingenious  and  entertaining  comedy, 
ommend  it  for  amateur  production.  (Royapv, 

Price,  75  Centw, 


twenty-five  dollars.) 


GOING  SOME 


Ptay  in  4  acts.  By  Paul  Armstrong  and  Rex  Beach. 
1  males,  4  females.  2  exteriors,  1  interior.  Costumes, 

modern  and  cowboy.  Plays  a  full  evening. 


SAMUEL  FRENCH,  25  West  45th  Street,  New  York  City 
Our  New  Catalogue  Will  Be  Sent  on  Receipt  of  Five  Cent* 


■ 


